


Lost

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, just sometimes, the Lost Boys of Neverland lost themselves so well that not even Pan could find them. And sometimes, beyond dreams and fairy dust and magic, they will find others, as lost as they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling about in my head for quite some time: over a hundred years in Neverland is bound to mess with a boy's head, especially when surrounded by other lost boys. And because I secretly have a bit of a thing for the idea of Bae/Graham... well, this was born. And a boy as lost as Bae, who has seen so much and lost so much, I turned things around a bit :)

“You’re sure this is the place?”

Emma rested both arms on the steering wheel and looked out at the sign. “Can’t be two places in the world with a name like that,” she said.

“Try No Name,” her companion said. He was around the same age as she was - at least he looked it - and he was looking at the sign with the same trepidation as she was. He glanced at her. “You really want to do this?”

Emma shrugged. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Up until three months ago, I didn’t even know I had a son to be curious about,” he reminded her dryly.

Emma sighed, sitting back in her seat. “I would have told you, Bay,” she said quietly. “But you took off.”

“I know,” Bay replied just as quietly.

It was almost eleven years earlier that he’d run out on her. His own guilt and anger with himself turned him into an idiot and a coward. Too much booze, too much loneliness, and a girl who was close to him as a sister. He should never had slept with her, and they both knew it, but the anniversary was always the hardest on him.

Bay remembered a time when he’d been a better person, when he’d been loyal and stuck around through all the hell that came in a land where boys were commodities, where shadows hunted, and where terror thrived. That Bay - that Baelfire - would never have run at the first sign of trouble. 

That Baelfire wouldn’t have slept with a friend for his own comfort, after drinking more than he needed to, to try and put aside the memory of the one who had slipped through his fingers, the one he had finally risked jumping into another portal to find.

He’d spent the next handful of years in and out of jail and rehab facilities, and somehow, Emma had found him again. She was harder, sharper, paler, more drawn, but she walked up to him, slapped him hard, then put her arms around him, held him tight, and ten years of guilt and shame and apologies poured out of him.

Bay ran a hand over his face. “We’re just here to see how he is, right?”

“Right.”

They were both lying and they both knew it.

The rest of the drive into Storybrooke, Maine, was made in silence.

Their child, their son, was there.

If Bay hadn’t already felt guilty about leaving Emma in the lurch - he hated the fact he’d gone and got so drunk and high that they’d locked him up until he was clean - finding out she’d ended up locked up when she was caught with his haul from a robbery was worse.

And to top off everything else, he’d left her pregnant.

Now, they were going to find their son.

There was a plan: see the town, check that the boy was healthier and happier than either of them had been, and get the hell out of dodge. That was it. Bay didn’t want to think about the repercussions of a child being stuck with a man like him as a father. If the boy was happy and healthy, that should be enough.

He looked out of the window, drawing a shaking breath.

Emma reached over blindly and squeezed his thigh. “You okay?”

“I need a drink,” he whispered.

“You want me to pull over? We don’t need to go straight in?”

Bay shook his head. “Get it over with,” he said quietly. “Get us there, check on him and then…”

“Then we leave.”

“We leave.”

They didn’t look at one another.

Bay fixed his eyes on the town ahead.

It looked like any other Maine town, small and inconsequential, with a broad main street and dozens of small streets shooting off from it. People were coming and going, a regular place, a good place for a kid to grow up.

Emma glanced around, then nodded towards a diner. “We can stop there,” she said. 

Bay didn’t argue, and when she pulled up outside, he took a moment before getting out of the car. Now that they were here, he knew he’d have to face up to the fact that like his own father, he’d let down his child. His father had turned into something terrible, and Bay had done the same, lost in a quagmire of booze and drugs.

Addiction, it seemed, was hereditary.

“You hungry?” Emma asked with forced brightness.

Bay nodded mutely, closing the passenger door and walking around the car. 

He didn’t know how Emma did it, keeping her calm expression on. He knew she was like him, with a world of crap built up behind her eyes, but sometimes, when she smiled and walked tall, he couldn’t tell. 

They headed into the diner, Emma in the lead, and Bay could feel every eye in the place on them. It made his skin crawl. Too many years of being watched like a victim, like prey, it made him want to run.

Emma knew him well enough.

Her hand slipped into his.

“Get a table for us?” she suggested, squeezing his fingers.

Bay nodded again. “Get me something without caffeine,” he asked quietly.

“I’ll pick out something good,” she promised, releasing him.

Bay retreated to the very back of the diner, to the booth closest to the back wall, facing the door, and slunk into the corner. It was a safe place, warm and bright with the smell of home cooking, but it was somewhere new, and he’d seen too much to ever feel safe anywhere.

He glanced over at Emma, who was talking to a tall, smiling black-haired girl behind the counter. The girl looked his way and smiled a blood-red smile, all teeth and lips, and he could have sworn she winked at him. He looked away, picking up one of the menus and staring blindly at it. 

Emma joined him a few minutes later, sliding into the booth.

“They’ll bring it over,” she said, studying him. “How you holding up?”

He put the menu back. His hands were shaking. “They’re staring at us,” he said quietly, “like they’ve never seen visitors before.”

“You’re safe,” Emma said, reaching over and taking his hands between hers.

She always was the stronger one.

But then, she’d never seen Neverland.

His hands curled to fists under her fingers, and she squeezed. “Just breathe.”

“I’m okay,” he replied quietly, lifting his head to look at her. “You?”

One side of her mouth turned up. “Feels like the first time I got caught shoplifting,” she admitted. “Like someone’s about to snatch me from behind.”

He leaned sideways to look beyond her. “You’re safe too,” he said.

Under the table, she kicked him fondly.

The tight ball of anxiety resting in his gut wasn’t gone, but it had eased enough when their food was brought for him to risk eating. Emma had chosen right: there was something comfortingly childish about a burger and fries. They fought over the ketchup, and he could tell she was relieved when he smiled. 

The plate was only half-finished when he pushed it back.

She didn’t reproach him, but he knew she worried about him. Given where she’d found him, he knew she worried about seeing him in pieces again. He was putting himself together again, but it was taking time and a lot of it.

He picked up his glass of soda, sipping it.

The rest of the diners seemed to have forgotten about them, and the eyes were no longer watching them.

Bay looked around.

Quiet people in a quiet town doing quiet things.

He wondered if any of them had ever had anything exciting happen to them.

The door of the diner opened, the blinds rattling.

“Afternoon, Ruby.”

Bay felt like the marrow in his bones had turned to ice.

The voice wasn’t the same, not quite. It was older, deeper, not the voice he remembered, the voice of a youth, a boy verging on manhood, as he had been so long ago. But it sounded like the same voice.

Bay turned his head to see the man who had walked in the door.

He was in a uniform, a little older than Bay himself. Older. He was older. He had reached the height his youth had promised. He was tall, broad in the shoulder, and he was smiling at the girl behind the counter like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Impossible. It was impossible. He was impossible. Pan got rid of him. Even if he was still alive, he wouldn’t have been cheerful and smiling, not like that.

Bay flinched when something shattered, and shrank back in his seat when all eyes turned to him.

The glass must have slipped from his hand.

It was smashed to pieces on the floor.

“Bay?” Emma said, startled.

Bay stared wildly at her, then scrambled over the mess on the floor, racing for the door. He didn’t know where he was going, whirling this way and that, stumbling into the nearest dark place, the nearest alley, and shrinking down into the shadows. He was shaking, his arms wrapped over his head, when Emma caught up with him, kneeling and drawing his arms away, so she could embrace him instead.

“What is it?” she whispered, cradling him. He knew he had to be leaving bruises in her skin, but he couldn’t loosen his grip. “What happened?”

“It’s him,” Bay croaked. “The man in the diner. He… he looks like him. The one I…” His voice caught in his throat and he trembled. “It can’t be. Can’t be him. Not here.”

“Can’t be,” Emma echoed, stroking his hair. “It can’t be.”

He wanted to be sick. He wanted to let everything pour out of him, but he couldn’t. All he could do was hold on to Emma, hold on tight, and pray he could remember how to breathe, as she stroked his hair over and over again.

He didn’t know which of them heard the approaching footsteps first, but they pulled away from one another, straightening up.

Bay wanted to laugh, wanted to weep.

Of course it was him. 

“Everything okay here?” The man looked between them with apparent concern. A glance over him showed a Sheriff’s badge at his belt, which explained a lot. 

“Fine,” Bay said, smiling like he meant it. “Just a little anxiety.” He forced himself to step back into the light, into the street where the man - the impossible man - was standing. He held out a hand, willing it to stop shaking. “I’m Bay. This is Emma.”

The Sheriff shook his hand briefly, and Bay’s legs trembled from the remembrances of the familiar calluses. He even had the narrow scar across the back of his palm. “Graham,” he said. “You folks new in town?”

“Passing through,” Emma said. She was standing so close to Bay, he could feel her shoulder brush his. She was smiling her working smile, the one that made people think she was nothing but a harmless, dumb blonde. “We’re putting together a family tree, and the old records pointed us in this direction.”

The Sheriff smiled and Bay had to look away from him. It felt wrong. He looked the same and his voice was the same, but everything else about him was wrong. Bright and sharply wrong. Smiling, amiable, welcoming, trusting. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“If you want to look up the old records,” the Sheriff was saying. “There are offices down town. We can see if you’ve got any distant family left in town.”

Emma slipped her arm through Bay’s squeezing it. “That’d be great,” she said effusively.

“Yeah,” Bay murmured. “Thanks.”

 

________________________________________________

 

They stayed, in the end.

They had to.

There were too many kids in town around the same age as their son would have been, and a kid raised in a loving home didn’t usually have a sign over his head that screamed ‘Hello, I’m adopted!’. That was a good sign, Bay figured, but they wanted to know he was okay, that he was happy and safe and well. 

“It’ll only be for a few days,” Emma said, as they headed up the steps to the guest house.

Bay wanted to be reassured by that, but everything about the town was setting his nerves on edge. It wasn’t just the Sheriff. There was something about the place, something about the store windows filled with outdated products, and all the old cars, little things that made the place feel like it was stuck just to the side of real time.

They had to do it.

Emma found him. Emma helped put him back together. Emma reminded him what it was like to be living like a real person. And then, she dropped the bombshell that after he had left, before they had both gone through jail and he had been burned out by rehab, there was a child, and the child was theirs from one stupid, stupid night.

She wanted him to know all of the truth, and it should have stayed simple: a closed adoption, an ending, a kid safe in a home and a family, without needing to know what kind of screw ups he had as parents.

Closed. Finished. End of.

And yet…

He knew how much Emma’s parents had messed her up, even without even knowing who they were. He knew how much his parents had ruined his life, with the abandonment and the dark magic. He didn’t want any child seeing his blood parents that way, but it beat against his mind, the one good thing he had done in his life, the one good thing he wanted to make sure was safe.

So they agreed they would find the child, see that he was safe, and that was all. 

Emma found people. It was what she did. She found their boy.

And now, they were staying in a pokey little Maine town, pretending to be tourists.

Emma went to the counter, and Bay remained by the door, leaning against the wall. He was tired and drained, and he knew Emma didn’t need to be told. He hated how much of a burden he was on her, but they’d been friends for a long time before everything went wrong. She was the one person who came looking for him after everything he did.

The dark-haired girl from the diner and an older lady stormed down the stairs, arguing. Bay watched them as they realised they had an audience. The place was a dump, but it was the only option, and from the smile on the old woman’s face, it was the first time in a long while that they’d had any guests.

“We’d like a room,” Emma said. “Do you have a twin?”

The younger woman’s eyes gleamed, as if she liked the news that they weren’t a couple. 

Bay sank to sit on the edge of the window sill, as the guest registry was pulled out. He heard footsteps outside, but there was something else, something that made him sit up a little straighter. It wasn’t just footsteps. It was a distinctive step-tap-step. Someone with a walking stick.

Bay pressed a hand to his forehead. 

Like he really needed to remember anything else about his past.

The door beside him opened, and a man stepped in. Bay’s breath caught in his throat, and his hands, resting on the window ledge, tensed, nails biting into the wood. The hair colour, the build, it was all too similar.

He bit down on the hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat. Of course. Of course. He was clean now, so the fact he was seeing people long dead and gone all over the place that was already unsettling him? Completely natural. His mind was trying to drive him back to refuge in drink and drugs.

“Emma,” the man said and Bay flinched. Even the voice was right. “What a lovely name.”

Emma turned, surprised, but looked right past the man. Her face paled. Bay knew he must have looked like hell. She brushed by the man, crouching down, covering Bay’s hands with her own. “Hey,” she said softly. “Hey, come back to me.”

Bay stared at her, only at her. “Can’t do this,” he whispered. “Christ. I can’t, Emma.”

She lifted her hands to his face, her palms warm and firm. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It’s okay. Just breathe, Bay. Just breathe.”

“Bay?” He said it. The man, the man with his father’s face, said his name, like a prayer, and that just made it worse.

Bay’s hands leapt up, clasping Emma’s hands to his face. He focused on her, just on her, and breathed in, slowly, steadily, calming himself. She was strong. She didn’t want to be here, not really, and he’d asked her to come, but now they were here, he couldn’t back away, not without doing what they had come to do.

“You want a glass of water or something?” The older woman said cautiously.

Bay gathered himself, shaking, and got to his feet. “I’m all right,” he lied. He forced a smiled that he knew Emma would see right through. “Finish the booking. We can stay.”

He could feel the man’s eyes on him, and he forced himself to look at a stranger wearing his father’s face. The man was staring at him with a wild-eyed hunger, but it was contained in eyes that were clear and old and controlled, nothing like Bay’s father. Rumpelstiltskin had become a loose canon, wildly destroying anything he deemed a threat. This man was tightly coiled and placid, except for his dark, intent eyes.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, though the phrasing made it sound more question than observation.

“I’ve never been here before,” Bay said, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. It stopped them from shaking openly. He tried to echo Emma’s professional smile. “We’re passing through. Genealogy tour for my girl.”

A strange, taut smile crossed the man’s lips. “Well, if you need any assistance,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Bay, “I’ve been in town a long while. I might be able to point you in the right direction.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Emma said, returning to Bay’s side. 

The man didn’t even glance at her, but his thin, tight smile remained. “Family is important,” he said. “The most important thing, some would say.” He inclined his head. “Nothing can ever replace that.”

Bay wanted to laugh outright, sharp and bitter. It was as if the man was pulling all the things he wished his father had said from his mind. “Well,” he said, “we’re looking for ancestors, not close family.”

The man flinched. Not much, but just enough. He turned away from them, accepting a roll of bills from the older woman by the counter. “Well, I hope your visit is productive,” he said, “and the offer still stands.” He looked at Bay, searching his face. “I would be more than happy to help.”

He left, then closing the door quietly behind him.

“Well, that was weird,” the young woman said.

“What was?” Emma asked, glancing at her.

“Gold offering to be helpful,” she replied, pulling back the curtain to peer out after the man. “He normally just takes what’s owed for rent.”

“He owns this place?” Bay asked, blindly seeking Emma’s hand with his own.

“Not this place,” the older woman said. “The town.”

Bay looked at her. She sounded tired, afraid, and for a moment, he could remember a village subdued by the presence of the Dark One. Gorge was rising in his throat and he shivered, trying not to think of his father being here, in this world, with all that power and magic.

“Can we go upstairs?” he asked Emma.

“Sure,” she said, accepting the key from the landlady.

The whole inn was old and ramshackle, but all Bay cared about was getting into a room where he could close the world out. Emma let him in first and closed the door behind them, locking it as he sank down to sit on one of the bed. She set down her holdall, and approached him.

“What was that about?” she asked quietly. 

Bay looked down at his hands, unsurprised to see that they were shaking again. “There’s something weird about this town,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if it’s putting me on edge, but I’m… seeing things. People. The man who looked like Curly, and the man downstairs…” He looked at her. “He looked like my father.”

Emma leaned against him. “You’re having a bad day,” she said. “The stress must be playing tricks on you.”

He nodded, knowing that was the sensible thing to believe, but the resemblances, the voices, it was all too uncanny. “But what if it’s not?” he asked in a small, pleading voice. “What if I’m not seeing things?”

“Is that possible?” she murmured. “I mean for your father to still be around? And your ex?”

Bay buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know,” he confided in a whisper. “We just need to find our boy, make sure he’s okay, and then we can get the hell out of here.”


	2. Chapter 2

Emma was worried. 

It had taken her years to gather the skills to track down her long-lost friend. Even though she knew it was stupid, she still blamed herself for taking advantage of him. God knew she knew how messed up he was about his past. Yeah, they had slept together, but even then, she’d known it wasn’t a good idea.

When he bolted, she wasn’t surprised, and she didn’t have a chance to go checking the usual haunts. She was lifted with the last of his stolen property in the car, and the last thing Bay needed was time in jail. Turned out that he ended up there anyway.

They’d first found one another by chance, when she tried to steal his stolen car, and they had run around like kids for a long while, but whenever night came, he wouldn’t sleep. Once, he was exhausted, and he’d fallen asleep in the dark, and when he’d woken screaming, she’d leaned over him. Whatever he saw, it wasn’t her. It was the first time he almost bolted. 

After that, they slept together for a few hours during daylight, and she would hold him tight.

He never told her what his nightmares were about, but she’d been in the system to remember the secret, dark things that happened at night. Kids didn’t tell. The boogeyman wasn’t what a kid in a home was afraid of. The boogeyman would have been a mercy.

After he ran, she wondered about letting him go, but she knew that whatever pieces of himself he had put back together before he had met her, she was the hammer blow that had shattered them apart.

So she found him, and it was as bad as she expected.

She was successful now, though, a career bounty hunter with enough money for comfort, and an apartment. She’d taken him in from the streets, unresisting, and she looked after him, patched his sores, got him eating again, and with time, even helped him put aside the drugs and the alcohol that had been sustaining him. 

He would never had died on the streets, she knew. He had survived too much to die there. He always skated on the edge of it, though, and that’s what she had worked so hard to pull him back from. 

Telling him about their kid was a mistake.

He’d become fixated on it. It didn’t matter that the baby was adopted. He wanted to be sure the family was a good one. When she asked why, his expression seemed to shut down and he just said that some families weren’t good. She never even knew he’d had a family before that, and that was what brought them to Storybrooke. He had to know their son was loved and safe and out of harm’s way.

It was a bad idea.

He was only just clean, and now, he was starting to see people he’d lost years before she ever met him. She lay in one of the twin beds, pretending to sleep, as he curled up in the window seat overlooking the square. He wouldn’t sleep. Not tonight, but she knew she had to.

Bay propped his chin on his knees, staring out into the dark.

She didn’t know what he was looking for, or what he was thinking about. For all that she knew about him, there was a lot more she didn’t know. She’d always assumed his family were dead, until he insisted he’d seen his father. 

She must have slept because morning light and tower bell chiming woke her.

Bay was lying on the other bed, his back to her.

“Bay?”

“Yeah?”

She propped herself up on her arm. “You want to sleep?”

He was silent for a long while, then nodded.

Emma rose from her bed and stepped across the gap to his, lying down behind him, her body curving around his. “Get some rest,” she murmured, putting her arm around him. He wrapped his hand around hers and closed his eyes.

He didn’t sleep long. He never did. He jerked awake with a barely stifled cry. She never knew how he learned to stop himself crying out like that, but something told her it wasn’t going to be a happy story, if he ever explained.

She never asked anymore, and he never said, but it was always the same: nightmares.

“I’m going to go out for a while,” she said quietly, rising from the bed. “You want to come with me or stay put?”

His fingers curled into the blanket. “Stay,” he said, his voice still hoarse from sleep. 

Emma leaned down and kissed his brow. “I’ll bring you back something to eat, okay?”

“You have your cell?”

“Always,” she promised. 

She headed to the bathroom to wash up and dress, and when she emerged, he was back at the window again, watching the square. She didn’t know if he was looking for the man who resembled his lost lover or his father. Whichever it was, she knew they had to get out of the town as soon as possible for his sake.

He wouldn’t leave until they found their child, but she knew he couldn’t stay, not when it was all clearly bothering him, ghosts catching up with him. There was guilt and anger there, guilt over what had happened to his lover, anger at his father, and she didn’t know why, but it was making him withdraw. She’d seen him go that way before, once, before everything went wrong for them.

The inn was quiet when she emerged from their room and made her way down the stairs.

She wasn’t sure what her next destination was.

A closed adoption was called that for a reason. The names of the adoptive parents were sealed away, just like the name of the birth mother, and the child’s new name was not revealed. Even tracking him as far as Maine had been hard-going.

“Need some local maps?”

Emma spun around at the voice of the landlady. The woman was drying her hands and smiling in a hopeful, welcoming way. “Uh… I’m not sure,” Emma replied. “The Sheriff was saying something about public records for looking up past residents?”

The woman chuckled. “Yes. You’d have to see the Sheriff or the Mayor about that,” she said. “They tend to keep the paperwork locked up.” She pulled a map out from under the counter and spread it on the surface. “Here. This is where we are. The Sheriff’ll either be in the diner or his station, which is here. He’s the best one to ask. The Mayor…”

“Is probably busy?” Emma guessed.

The woman smiled oddly. “It’s better not to bother her with little things like family history,” she said. “Try the diner. If he’s not there, he’ll be in his office. It’s too early for him to be out on patrol.”

Emma smiled. “Thanks.”

It was cool outside, the breeze sweeping in from the sea, and she shivered, heading down the steps. A glance up told her that Bay was still sitting by the window. He raised a hand as she looked at him, and she nodded, before heading onwards to the diner.

Once or twice, Bay had mentioned the lover he’d lost. It was years before, long before he met her, so he couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Whatever had happened to the boy he called Curly, she didn’t know, only that it was a forced parting, and he’d assumed Curly was dead, killed.

If the Sheriff was the same man…

It was all too much of a coincidence. Bay’s mind had to be playing tricks on him. He lived with nightmares, nightmares that left him sweating and shaking and silently sobbing. It was possible that his unexpected guilt at leaving a child behind had triggered something, shattering all the work he’d done at finding his feet.

Emma hoped it wasn’t too late to set right.

All they had to do was find the kid, let Bay see he was okay, and they could leave. It would be fine. 

Fortunately, the man was in the diner.

“Embracing the stereotype?” Emma asked, looking at his plate.

The Sheriff looked up at her with a crooked smile. “Sometimes, you just have to give in to societal pressure,” he said. “You stayed, then?”

She saluted with a fingertip to her brow. “I can see why the crime rate must be low with wits like that,” she said, earning a chuckle from him. “You said something about public records yesterday. I was wondering if I’d be able to have a look? The lady who runs this place said you were the person to ask.”

The Sheriff nodded. “That won’t be a problem,” he said. “Your boyfriend isn’t interested?”

“Bad night,” Emma said. “And not exactly my boyfriend either. Long story.”

“Best ones are,” he said. He nodded towards the counter. “You want a coffee or something? I feel like I owe you for interrupting your dinner yesterday.”

Emma shrugged. “Sure,” she said. 

“Ruby!” he called over. “Give her anything she wants, on me.”

Emma smiled crookedly. “Thanks,” she said, heading to the counter. 

“You caught him on a good day,” Ruby said with a brilliant smile. “Sheriff isn’t usually so generous.”

“I’m not one to say no to a free meal,” Emma said, glancing back at the man, wondering if his motives were as honest as he implied. It was still a free meal, though, and he seemed like a nice guy.

All the same, she ate her food at the bar, and when the Sheriff came over to pay, she slid off the stool to accompany him. 

The town seemed just as quiet as it had the day before, as they walked towards the hall of records.

“Is it always like this?” she asked.

“Like what?” Graham asked.

“So quiet,” Emma replied.

He looked around. “We’re pretty lucky,” he said. “We don’t have many troublemakers, and the people around here all know each other.”

Emma let her eyes wander. “Must be nice,” she said. Sounded like a good town for a child to grow up in. A bit behind on the times, but still decent and quiet, and no trouble to speak of. “Makes your job easier too, I bet.”

The Sheriff laughed. “You could say that,” he said, leading her up a flight of steps. “Here.” He opened the door for her, and she looked at him in amusement.

“A gentleman too?” she said. 

To her astonishment, he looked like he was blushing. “Just manners,” he said, following her into the building. 

It looked like no one had visited it in some time. Shutters were drawn down over the reception, thick with dust, and the pamphlets in racks by the shutter were curled and yellowed with age. The handle of the door, though, was gleaming.

“We don’t open to the public anymore,” he explained. “Most people in Storybrooke don’t really go in for genealogy. They’ve lived here their whole lives. They don’t really care to know more. If they need any documents, they know to ask at City Hall.”

Emma glanced sidelong at him, as he started unlocking cabinets. “So everyone in Storybrooke was born here?”

He nodded. “Most,” he said. “We have one or two people who moved in. Even an adoption from out of town.”

Emma’s heart thumped. “That so?”

The Sheriff nodded amiably. “The Mayor’s son,” he said. “Henry. He’s a good kid.”

“Seems like he got lucky,” Emma said, feigning disinterest. “Nice town, a mom in a good position.” She hesitated, then asked as casually as she could. “What about his dad?”

“Oh, it’s just Regina,” Graham said, pulling a hefty leather-bound book out of a cabinet and setting it down on the desk. “These are the birth and death records from about eighty years ago. We’re not exactly an old town, so those’ll be the best place to start.”

Emma nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “Is it okay if I stay in here?”

He studied her, then held out the key. “Just lock up when you’re done and bring the key back to the Sheriff’s station, across the block,” he said.

She eyed the keys. “That’s very trusting.”

He shrugged with a quick smile. “You seem like a trustworthy person,” he said. “And anyway, any useful or compromising paperwork is kept in City Hall.” He waved at the glass panel above the door and the letters printed there. “Public records. Records for the public. Nothing to bring down the government in here.”

She snorted. “Fine. I’ll bring back your keys later.”

She waited for fifteen minutes after he left, then closed the office up and locked the doors behind her. All the information she wanted, she had. The Mayor had a son. His name was Henry. He had no father, but he was being raised in a decent town.

Emma stood on the steps outside the records office.

It felt like it was only part of the story.

There was other person in town who had offered them any kind of help, and he was the one person in town who probably would know of anything underhand. Emma shoved the keys in her pocket and set out in search of Mr Gold. 

It turned out he wasn’t a difficult man to find.

There was a store on main street with his name on it.

Emma pushed the door open, the bell jangling above her head.

It was a strange place, cluttered up with weird antiques and lamps and even swords. Emma looked around, jumping back a step at the sight of two ugly wooden puppets grinning at her from one of the counters. 

“Don’t be alarmed.” Gold’s voice seemed to drift out of the shadows. “They’re quite harmless.”

Emma spun around. The man was standing behind the counter, as if he’d been there the whole time, watching her with an inscrutable expression.

“They’re weird-looking,” she said.

“A matter of perspective,” Gold said. “Can I help you?”

Emma hesitated, then approached the counter. “Last night, you said you’d help us out if we needed it.”

Some strange expression crossed his face. “I don’t recall saying such a thing to you,” he said quietly.

“No,” she agreed, folding her arms over her chest, “but you were speaking to him, and I’m here on his behalf.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t like dealing with women? Or is this because you want to deal with him?”

Gold’s expression was unreadable. “Well, you’re here now,” he murmured. “What can I do for you?”

“The Mayor,” Emma said without preamble. “What’s her deal? What’s she like?”

Gold gazed at her. “In what context? Political? Physical? Emotional?” His eyes were fixed on hers. “Familial?”

Emma bristled. “So you know why I’m here?”

“I know that a certain child in the Mayor’s care may or may not have a biological parent present in town,” Gold said mildly. He inclined his head slightly. “I was responsible for arranging the adoption in… legal terms for Miss Mills.”

She didn’t like him. That surprised her. Normally, Emma didn’t care enough either way about people to put effort into disliking them, but she didn’t like Gold. He was hitting every one of her buttons like he had a chart, and she didn’t like it at all.

“How is she? As a mom?”

Gold was silent for a long while. “Why do you care, Miss Swan?” he asked. “As I recall, it was a closed adoption. You weren’t even meant to be able to find him.”

“I don’t see why it’s any of your business,” she said coolly. “My friend and I were looking into my kid. Maybe I have a condition I want to warn his mom about. Maybe I just want to know what’s going on in his life. It’s none of your damned business.”

“Yet here you are, asking for my help,” Gold said quietly. 

Emma’s fingers bit into her upper arms. “We want to know he’s okay,” she said finally. “That’s why we’re here. I want to see that he’s okay and he’s happy and has a good home. We might not be his parents now, but we want to know.”

The man stared at her, then turned away, as if he needed to fetch something. His hand rested on the edge of the shelves behind him. The other picking at items on the shelves. She didn’t know if he was distracting her or himself. 

“I would recommend you take a stroll along the seafront at around three thirty today,” he said, his voice clipped. “You’ll get all the answers you want.” He waved a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

Emma remained where she was for a moment, then turned and headed back out into the day. She made a stop at the store to fetch some food for Bay and a map of the town. She was relieved to find that he’d at least moved away from the window. She could hear the sound of the shower and knocked on the door to let him know she was back. 

He emerged a few minutes later, hair rumpled and damp over his face. “Any luck?”

She looked up from the map, a candy bar sticking out of her mouth. “Mm.”

He sat down on the other bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. 

Emma tossed him one of the sandwich packs she’d bought, and swallowed her chocolate. “I found out the kid’s name,” she said. “Henry Mills. Turns out he was adopted by the woman who’s the Mayor now.”

Bay tore open the wrapper. “Mayor, huh?”

“That’s good, right? Nice home, all the toys he could want.”

Bay opened up the sandwich, then closed it again. “Could be,” he said quietly. 

Emma gazed at him. “You don’t think so?”

He raised his dark eyes from the sandwich. “I’ve seen what power can do to people,” he said. “I’ve seen a good man become cruel and violent because suddenly, he was strong enough to strike back for any slight.” He turned the sandwich over, looking back down at it. “Maybe this Mayor is nice. Maybe our son’s happy. I just need to know he’s not… seeing things happen the way I did.”

Emma nodded in understanding.

“We should go for a walk this afternoon,” she suggested. “Get you out of here. Get some fresh air. Maybe we’ll be able to look out for him, now we know who adopted him.”

Bay nodded, falling silent as he picked at his sandwich.

Emma watched him, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. He never ate enough, not anymore. Before, they used to gorge themselves on everything they got a hold of, but now, his appetite was half what it had been. He’d gone without food for so long that he simply forgot to eat a lot of the time, but sometimes, it was because he was wound up so tightly, he couldn’t even keep anything more down.

“Maybe,” he said finally, putting aside the crusts of the bread, “I can sleep some more?”

He always hated to ask her, especially when he knew she liked to be active during the day, but she knew he needed it to. 

“Clear your stuff up,” she said, getting up. “I’ll go to the bathroom, then you can nap.”

By the time she came back, his bed was clear and he was curled on his side, staring blindly in front of him. She lay against his back, putting her arm around his middle, and felt his hand close around hers gently. 

“We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?” he asked in a whisper.

“We are,” she murmured. Maybe not for the kid, but for Bay, definitely. He needed the peace of mind, so they could walk away and get on with their lives. The kid would never know and they would all be fine.

He drifted to sleep, and she watched over him until the usual nightmares caught him, his hand tightening on hers. He whispered a name that wasn’t hers, almost pleading, and started struggling, until she managed to shake him awake.

He stared at her, unfocussed, confused. “Emma?”

“Just me,” she said gently. “You okay?”

He looked around the room, as if trying to recall where they were, nodded. “Dreams.”

“I figured,” she murmured. “You want to sleep again?”

He pushed himself upright. “No,” he said at once. “A walk. I think I need the air.”

It had clouded over since the morning.

Emma stopped by the Sheriff’s station, leaving the keys on the desk with a note, then she and Bay headed down to the waterfront. If he suspected there was something going on, he didn’t show it, as they walked arm in arm by the docks and down along the beach.

They didn’t talk, just letting the quiet wash over them. 

Bay’s eyes kept drifting out to the sea. She knew he’d lived on the coast a long while back, but not where. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the structure ahead of them until she tugged his arm.

It was a wooden play fort for kids to play on, but it looked storm-battered and worn.

There was a small shape visible on the fort, and Emma's heart thumped. A kid. 

Somehow, Gold had known he would be there.

He was sitting cross-legged with his back against one of the towers, a book open in his lap. He didn't even seem to notice them when they turned off the beach and walked towards the park. Emma knew Bay had no idea who the kid was, but given their purpose, given their intentions, it didn't take a genius for him to figure it out.

"Emma," he murmured quietly.

"I don't know," she replied just as softly. It was almost a lie. She wasn't sure, but she didn't think Gold would have sent them out here for anyone else.

The gravel crunched underfoot, and Emma felt her heart sink at the way the boy scrambled to his feet, hugging his book to his chest, looking around warily as if he expected to be in trouble. No child reacted like without good cause. He stared at them, frowning, then sat back down. Whoever he was worried about catching him, it wasn't them.

"Hi," he said, his legs dangling over the edge of the fort.

Emma managed to smile. "Hey, kid." He looked like Bay, only healthier. His hair was a little lighter, but there he was: their son. "How's it going?"

He gave her a sunny smile which pushed down some of the worry that had flared when he looked so afraid. "I'm good," he said, staring cheerfully at them both. "You're not from here, are you?"

"We're just visiting," Bay said. His voice was impassive and calmer, which made Emma look at him suspiciously. He looked a little paler than usual, but his eyes were on the boy and he wasn't falling apart, which was what she had been afraid of. "How about you? Are you from around here?"

The boy looked over his shoulder in the direction of the town. "My whole life," he said. He turned back with another smile. "I'm Henry."

"I'm Bay," Bay said. "This is Emma."

That caught his attention and Emma felt the full force of his stare. "Emma?" His arms tightened around his book. "You're Emma?" When she nodded, he leaned forward, searching her face. "Are you twenty-eight?"

Bay snorted beside her, but she nodded again. "Good guess."

The smile that lit the kid's face was brilliant. "I knew it! You've come to save me!"

Emma felt like the world had been pulled out from under her. "What?"

The boy jumped down from the fort. "You're Emma Swan. You're my mom."

Emma felt Bay's hand under her elbow, supporting her, and she was grateful. It was one thing to know he was her kid. It was something else to find out he knew her name and who she was. "How do you know that?" she demanded.

"I've been looking for you," he said, looking up at her with the same earnest intensity as his father. "I found your name. I wanted to come and find you, but..." He shrugged prosaically. "I'm ten. I can't drive yet and no one in Storybrooke ever leaves."

"You wanted to find me?" Emma echoed, shaken. "But you have a mom and a home here."

The expression that crossed Henry's face was one she'd seen on Bay's too many times. It was the look that spoke of closely guarded secrets and unhappiness. "I do," he agreed quietly.

To Emma's surprise, Bay stepped forward, crouching down to the boy's level. "What's your book about, Henry?"

Henry looked down at it, then back up. "Everyone in town," he said quietly. He held it out and Bay took it, opening it. 

Emma heard the way his breath caught as he flicked through the pages, and she laid her hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "Something from your childhood?" she asked.

Bay nodded, staring at the drawings: a boy in rags, an evil Queen all dressed in black, a baby wrapped in a blanket. "You could say that," he said a little hoarsely. He looked up at Henry. "Can I borrow this?"

Henry looked alarmed. "Why?"

Bay leaned closer and whispered something to the boy. Whatever it was, it made Henry's eyes widen.

"You'll keep it safe?" Henry asked, his voice lowered to a whisper. "You'll keep my book safe?"

Bay nodded. "Cross my heart," he promised.

Henry searched his face and nodded.

For a moment, Emma thought Bay might tell the boy who he was, why he was there, but before either of them could speak, the bells in the clock tower chimed. Henry spun around, a look of panic on his face. 

"I have to go!" he exclaimed, scrambling back up onto the fort to grab his backpack. He pulled it on, then looked back down at them. "You guys are staying in town, right?"

"For a few days, at least," Bay said before Emma could say anything. 

Henry beamed at them, then clambered down from the fort and hurried back in the direction of the town.

Emma watched him go. "A few days?" she said quietly. "Bay, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes."

As simple as that.

He started back in the direction of the town, Henry's book tucked under his arm.

Emma hurried after him, still shaken. "Why?"

He paused, then turned around to look at her. She hardly recognised him. It was as if he had come into focus, his expression calm and determined. "Because our son needs us to."


	3. Chapter 3

Bay knew that he should be afraid.

It would only be sensible.

While Emma slept that evening, he read the book from cover to cover. It told a tale of a world of magic, cursed by an Evil Queen. There were stories that he'd heard in this world, stories that were echoes of another time and another place, names that were familiar but different. There was a picture, too, that caught his eye, the boy he had once been decades, maybe centuries before.

Everything had fallen into place: the man who looked like his father might well be exactly who he seemed; the man who looked so like Curly could be that same boy grown to maturity; his best friend in all the world was the one who would save them all. 

They had come for their son, but Bay was starting to realise that they'd come for a lot more than that.

Emma would never believe it.

For all that she knew the world, for all that she could see it for the gritty, real mess that it was, she would never believe in the possibility of magic. Anyone who'd had a life as hard as Emma's would find it difficult to believe in something that could make things better so easily. And that was the problem: in this world, magic was seen as the easy solution, but Bay knew from experience that magic always made things worse.

Magic was the reason Emma had been raised without her family.

Magic was the reason Bay had lost so much.

And now, magic was the reason they had to stay.

He didn't know how he was meant to explain to Emma that the book was true, that fate had intervened and brought her son to the very town where her father and mother were trapped. She'd been looking for them her whole life, and now, she was in the same town, and he knew she wouldn't believe it. 

Just as morning was breaking, he slipped out of the room and made his way down into the town to watch for the faces of her parents. Even if she didn't believe him, he could at least push them in the right direction. She'd probably kill him when she found out, but sometimes, doing the right thing meant sticking your neck out on a friend's behalf, and she'd done it often enough for him. 

The diner was the best place to start.

In the book, the pictures weren’t exactly accurate, but they were close enough for him to take a guess on identities. The place was quiet, so he took one of the tables near the door, his back to the wall, and ordered a coffee. 

People started coming and going soon enough, and he searched for faces that might be right or similar. He was on his second cup of coffee when a woman hurried in, folders in her arms and a bag in her hand.

Bay sat up straighter, staring at her.

She had shorter hair, and the drawings of her in the book were rough at best, but the woman had the same chin as Emma, and very similar eyes. He slipped out from his table, and as she hurried back from the counter, he walked straight into her, both of them stumbling back. Her folders fell from her arms, and they both crouched down to collect them up, exclaiming shocked apologies.

“I didn’t see you,” she said, looking up with Emma’s crooked smile. 

“Not a morning person either,” he said, helping her gather up the folders. Some doodles had slipped out, art by children from the look of it. “You’re quite the artist,” he said.

She laughed, taking the folders from his hands and arranging them together. “My students are,” she said. She looked at him curiously. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?” Bay nodded, and she juggled her folders, awkwardly offering a hand. “Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

“Bailey Taylor,” he replied at once, shaking her one free finger. “Most people just call me Bay.” He reached over the pile in her arms. “Here. Let me help.”

He took the folders for her and she gave him a surprised, grateful look. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I almost knocked you on your ass,” he said. “I’d say it’s a little way to making amends. So, where am I your pack mule to?”

It turned out that she was a school teacher at the main school in town, and as they walked, she recommended some of the sights he could see around Storybrooke.

“It’s not much of a town,” she admitted, as they stopped at the school gates, “but on a good day, it’s quite nice.”

“It’s the quiet kind of place we’ve been looking for,” he said, handing back her pile of folders. He smiled once more. “Sorry again.”

She smiled Emma’s smile. “And thank you again,” she said.

He hesitated. “Do you have Henry Mills in your class, by any chance?”

Mary Margaret frowned. “Why?”

Bay smiled as innocently as he could. “He let me borrow his book yesterday,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure where to get it back to him. Would it be okay if my friend dropped by with it later today? I mean, if he’s in your class?”

"He loaned you his book?" Mary Margaret looked suspicious.

Bay shrugged, wishing he hadn't said anything. "We ran into him at the park," he said. "He thought someone new might believe his story."

"Ah." She winced. "Anyone who isn't cursed, right?"

"Exactly," he said. "Is it okay if she drops it in to you?"

Mary Margaret nodded with a smile. "Of course."

Bay headed back to the inn, stopping off to fetch some breakfast for Emma from the diner. He wasn't surprised to find her awake, towelling her hair dry. She glanced over her shoulder at him when he walked in.

"Out for a walk," he said, setting down the coffee and pastries on the dresser in front of her. He smiled carefully. "It's all right when it's quieter. Less people around."

Before he stepped back, she touched the back of his wrist. "You're okay?"

He nodded. "I'm fine," he said, surprised by how true it was. He was afraid of what was to come, but he also knew that his son needed him to be brave, as he had always had tried to be. Emma needed him to be too. She just didn't know it yet. And if he was right, Curly did too, or the man he had grown to be. 

If it had only been one, Bay didn't think he could have been strong enough, but Curly and Emma had held him up long enough. To be the rock for someone else, to be the one who could protect them, was something he thought he had forgotten, but no. Now, he knew he could stand up and be there for them too, and for Henry.

He sat down on the end of the bed, laying his hand on the book as Emma tore into the pastries.

"Could you do me a favour?" he asked.

"Mm?"

He held up the book. "I ran into a lady who teaches Henry," he said. "Could you drop the book in for him with Miss Blanchard at the school?"

Emma shrugged. "Sure," she said, pulling her foot up onto the chair in front of her. "Anything interesting?"

"Apart from the fact that he thinks you're the daughter of Snow White and you've come to save the world, not really," he said lightly. The less she knew about his past for now, the better, especially if his father really was here, and bound up in the curse as well. 

Emma snorted. She picked up the coffee cup and took a mouthful. "Snow White, huh?" she said. "Not exactly one of the hero-princesses."

Bay pushed himself back on the bed. "Depends on the telling," he said, leaning back against the pillows and folding his arms over his eyes. He was tired, crazily so. Years of nightmares had torn apart his capacity to sleep like a normal person, but sometimes, he was lucky enough to feel tired, and when those times came, he embraced them.

"You want some quiet?" Emma murmured. "Or the radio?"

He lifted his arm to peer out at her. "Radio." His arm flopped back down, and he listened to Emma moving around the room. Just before she left, she flicked the radio on, leaving some cheesy ballad playing as she headed out of the room, taking the book with her.

Several hours had gone by when he jolted awake. For a split-second, he could swear he could still feel the calluses of his father's fingers against his own. His shirt was clinging to him, chill with sweat, and he sat up, pushing his hands through his tangled hair.

Funny, he thought, that the nightmares stayed the same, no matter how much time went by.

He showered and dressed, his bones aching. For all that he’d been a kid for a long time, sometimes, he felt every second of it when he woke. A quick search of the bags from the diner showed there was nothing left for him to eat, so he pulled on his boots and jacket and headed for the door.

The older lady who ran the place nodded to him when he re-entered the diner for the second time that day. Part of him expected to find Emma there, but when she was absent, he took the same table by the door, out of plain sight of anyone entering, unless they were looking.

A few minutes later, a dish of lasagne was set before him, and he prodded at it with his fork, his stomach grumbling. He always felt guilty using Emma’s money to buy food, but sometimes, he helped her out on cases, and she insisted on taking care of him. That involved eating, no matter how little appetite he had.

He was still picking at it when someone pulled the chair out opposite him. 

Bay went still, his fork tangled in pasta, and slowly raised his eyes.

The woman sitting opposite him was striking, beautiful, but she was looking at him as if he was some new specimen to be identified and either collected or stepped on. He’d seen that kind of look before and it made his stomach tighten. The food he had eaten tried to rise, but he forced it back down, smiling without showing his teeth.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

She smiled as falsely as he did, showing perfect white teeth. “I just came over to say hello,” she said. “My name’s Regina Mills. I’m Mayor of Storybrooke.” She offered him a hand, which he glanced at, then at his own, which were occupied with a fork in one and a glass in the other. She lowered her hand a moment later. “I just wanted to welcome you to town.”

Bay forced another forkful of lasagne into his mouth, then swallowed, and said, “Kind of you.” This was the woman who had their son, this imperious woman who felt she had the right to push her way into someone’s presence and demand their attention. “Do you welcome all visitors to town yourself?”

The smile remained. “We don’t have many,” she said. “We’re only a small place.”

Bay nodded, taking a drink. “Nice town,” he said. “Seems pretty quiet.”

“Oh, it is,” she said. “Hardly anything worth seeing.”

He gazed at her, wondering what Henry had told her, whether she knew her adopted son’s birth mother was in town, or whether it was just the invasion of strangers into her cursed little prison that was upsetting her. 

For her to be talking Storybrooke down, it meant she didn’t want to give him a reason to stay. Bay was never one to be driven away from anywhere, especially when people he cared about were at risk. He was inclined to leap, throwing himself into the danger. 

“I like the quiet,” he said, smiling a little wider. He wondered if it looked as forced as it felt on his face. “After the rush of the city, it’s nice to have some peace, don’t you think?”

Her expression was still welcoming and warm, but her eyes were shuttered. “I suppose it must be,” she agreed. She pushed her chair back, rising, and paused there, looking down at him. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

He lifted his fork in a half-salute. “I’m sure I will.”

Her eyes narrowed, just a little, and he knew that he had assigned himself a place on the list of her enemies, simply by being somewhere she didn’t want him to be. He looked down at the fork. It was shaking in his hand, and he remembered purple smoke, the scream of a man turned into a snail, and the crunch of the shell beneath his father’s boot.

If magic ever came to this safe, magic-free world, he knew he would be in a world of trouble.

Bay set the fork down on the edge of the plate and closed his eyes, breathing in slowly. He rested his hands on his thighs, fingers splayed, trying to keep them from shaking. 

Power - magic or otherwise - left a mark on people, sometimes for good, and more clearly for bad. The woman who had adopted his son, the woman who owned this town, was thick with it.

A few people must have come and gone, but someone stopped near him and cleared their throat quietly to let him know they were there.

Bay took a steadying breath and opened his eyes.

The Sheriff was standing not an arm’s length from him, concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

He should have lied, laughed, feigned tiredness, but those familiar eyes were looking at him, and he couldn’t lie to the man who must have spent the last twenty-eight years being lied to, even if he didn’t know it.

Bay shook his head, his voice caught in his throat.

The Sheriff laid a hand on his shoulder, and that was enough to make Bay jerk away from him. The Sheriff - it felt easier to think of him that way - drew back at once. “Wait here,” he said, taking Bay’s plate. He carried it back to the girl behind the counter, and spoke to her quietly. When he returned, he had the food closed up in a carton. “Come with me,” he said, his voice gentle. “Somewhere a bit less public for you.”

Bay got up unsteadily and followed the man out of the diner. The Sheriff walked alongside him, but he didn’t speak. Even now, he preferred silence, and only when he led Bay up the steps to the Sheriff’s station did he pause.

“You don’t need to come in if you don’t want to,” he said, “but if you ever need a break from everyone, this place is quiet. There’s a couch, and bunks if you don’t mind the bars.” He held up the box of Bay’s food. “I can warm this up for you, if you want.”

Bay meant to thank him, but the word that came out wasn’t what he intended: “Why?”

Brown eyes gazed at him. “You didn’t look comfortable,” the Sheriff said. “Least I can do is make things a little easier for you.” He shrugged one shoulder. “You’re a visitor. I want to give a good impression of our little town.”

Bay reached out to grasp the handrail of the steps. “You’re doing a good job,” he said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. 

So many years ago, he remembered the half-wild boy, raised by wolves and stolen by the shadow Pan, approaching him. The other lost ones treated him with disdain, calling him Curly for his tangled mane of hair, because he had no name and no words to give himself one, but Bay treated him as he wanted to be treated.

Now, a man, that boy was doing the same for him.

The Sheriff offered him a small quirk of the lips, better than the broadest smile, and jerked his head towards the door. “Come in,” he offered, then went into the building without looking back.

Bay followed, clenching and unclenching his hands, trying to force some little bit of calmness through his body which felt tense as a wire. 

The Sheriff was as good as his word. He put the dish in the microwave in the small kitchen beside the office, and when it was warmed through, waved Bay over to a small blue couch to eat in peace. The Sheriff retreated to his office instead, and for the first time since they had arrived in Storybrooke, Bay felt at ease.

The Sheriff didn’t say much more, but Bay lingered there, just taking in the quiet, calmness of the man behind the desk. Some things changed immeasurably, but the heart of the person stayed true. Sheriff Graham and Curly both had a gift of calmness and stillness that made Bay feel calm and still in turn.

He set the plate to one side, and leaned back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes, and listened to the tick of the clock.

Rare as it was, he must have fallen asleep, because he was woken by hands holding his arms, shaking him to wakefulness, and he knew why. His throat was raw, and he grabbed at the person shaking him, his fingers clutching at fabric, his eyes unfocussed.

“Just breathe.”

That voice.

Not Emma.

Curly.

The dream had been of Pan finding them, of Curly, of a portal, of being the one who was let go all over again. It was too close to how their parting had happened, and he stared at the man that Curly had become, searching his face, then dragged him closer and buried his own face in the startled Sheriff’s shoulder.

The Sheriff went rigid, shocked, and Bay knew - knew too well - that he was pushing the boundaries of what the man would tolerate. Curly, he might have been, but now, he was someone else, someone who didn’t know the man who was holding onto him so desperately. 

Bay almost flinched in surprise when a broad hand came to rest on the back of his neck. The Sheriff, Graham, slowly rubbed the back of his neck, calming, soothing, and Bay shivered, recalling that touch far too well. 

“Nightmare?” The Sheriff’s voice was quiet.

Bay nodded against his shoulder. He was suddenly aware that his fingers were digging into the Sheriff’s back with bruising pressure, and he forced his hands back, forced himself back too, running his palm over his face. “Sorry.”

The Sheriff was kneeling in front of the couch and sat back on his heels. “You want me to call your friend for you?”

Bay shook his head. “I wanted to give her a break,” he murmured. He tried to smile, but it was slow in coming. “I should get out of your way.”

The Sheriff was frowning. He looked concerned. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

Bay got to his feet unsteadily. “I’ve had worse,” he said.

The Sheriff rose, facing him, looking him in the eyes. “That isn’t what I asked.”

Bay lowered his eyes for a moment, then raised than. “I could tell you,” he said, “but there are some things you don’t need to know.” One side of his mouth turned up. “Trust me, it’s easier all round if you don’t ask what’s going on in my head.” 

He stepped around the Sheriff, but was stopped by a hand, light on his shoulder.

“The invitation stands,” the Sheriff said quietly. “If you need somewhere less public.”

Bay glanced at the Sheriff’s hand, nodded. “Thank you,” he said in a whisper. “I’ll keep it in mind.”


	4. Chapter 4

Emma didn't want to leave Storybrooke anymore.

At first, all she'd wanted was to let Bay see there was nothing to worry about, then get the hell out. 

Things had changed since then.

Henry had changed things.

Whenever she ventured into the diner in the morning, he would be waiting for her, a bright, eager smile on his face. Whenever she happened to go for a walk down by the beach after school, he would meet her at his castle. He didn't know that the man by her side was his father, and Bay wasn't in any hurry to tell him, but the kid seemed genuinely happy that Emma was his mother. 

As far as Emma knew, no one but Henry knew who she was, but the fact that she’d made him smile was a good thing in the eyes of Henry’s teacher. Mary Margaret Blanchard said Henry was very excited to meet new people, and the tone of her voice suggested it wasn’t a bad thing.

Henry’s adoptive mother, however, disagreed.

Emma had run into Henry outside the store, and he was telling her about his new school project, when a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman approached them, frowning. 

"Why are you talking to my son?"

Emma looked up from the boy, startled. "Um. Hi," she said, her eyes flicking over the woman who had to be the Mayor. "You must be Mayor Mills."

"Yes. I am." The woman was watching her guardedly. She placed her hands on Henry's shoulders, her grip tight enough to make her knuckles whiten. Henry shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "And you are?"

"Emma," Emma replied. "Emma Swan."

"My real mom," Henry said in an undertone.

The woman flinched as if he had struck her. Henry shook her hands off his shoulders, ducking around Emma and running in the direction of the school bus, leaving her alone with the woman who had raised her son. Emma tried to smile awkwardly. The last thing she'd wanted, when she'd signed the adoption paperwork, was to cause friction in another family. 

That was the problem.

Henry was clearly unhappy, and when she'd let him go, it was so he would have a happier childhood than she did. He wasn't happy. He was lonely, and he seemed isolated. He didn't have any friends that she'd seen him with. That was why she was staying, and she knew Bay felt the same way. 

"You're Henry's birth mother?"

Emma shifted self-consciously from one foot to the other. "Yeah," she said.

Something like panic flared in the woman's eyes. "And he's the reason you've come to town?"

Emma wrapped her arms over her middle. "I just wanted to be sure he was okay," she said. "I didn't plan on him finding out."

"He's fine." The woman's hands clenched into fists by her side. "You've seen him. He's well and healthy, and you don't get to just show up in his life when you feel like it."

Emma stepped back. "Like I said," she said quietly. "I didn't plan on him finding out."

Mayor Mills looked at her, pained. "Well, he has," she said. "You've showed up here, let him see his glamorous adventurous mother who goes where she likes, when she likes, and no doubt, you're going to drive back out of here, back to your... whatever your life is now." She slipped her hands into her pockets. "Not all of us can do exactly as we please, Miss Swan. Some of us have responsibilities."

Emma felt like she'd been slapped. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm not here to do any harm or take him away from you or anything. I just wanted to see that I hadn't made a mistake when I gave him up for adoption."

The Mayor was silent for a long while. "Come by City Hall in an hour." she said. "We should talk, while he's at school."

Emma nodded. "I'll be there," she said.

The Mayor brushed by her and stalked away, leaving Emma standing uncertainly in her wake. The woman had every right to be angry, especially since Emma had approached Henry without her consent. It was one thing to say she wanted to check up on the son she'd given up, but to walk into his life, knowing she'd meet him...

Still, he'd been looking for her too, and that worried her more than she cared to admit.

It felt wiser not to tell Bay and get him worried, so she retreated to the diner and considered it over a coffee. She wondered how she would have reacted in the same situation. There was something scaring the kid, and if Emma hated one thing, it was a child being left in a situation that frightened him. Bay wanted to stay on their child's behalf, maybe for the same reason as she did, maybe not, but if his adoptive legal mother wanted them gone, what right did they really have to remain?

When she rose to leave, she left the cup half full and lukewarm.

It wasn't exactly difficult to find City Hall. 

The Mayor let her in herself, and showed her through to a grand, chilly office, decorated in blacks and whites.

"Would you like a drink?" 

Emma smiled, relieved that she wasn't coming under attack. "Sure."

The Mayor crossed the floor to a cabinet. She was silent as she poured them each a measure of golden liquid. She held out one of the glasses to Emma. "Cider," she clarified, when Emma glanced into the glass. "I grow my own apples, and I like to think they give it a sweeter flavour."

Emma took a sip. It was sweet, but it was also strong.

The Mayor motioned for her to take one of the chairs facing the desk. "Please," she said with a smile that almost looked genuine. "Make yourself comfortable." Emma sat, and Henry's mother sat down on the far side of the desk, setting her own glass down. "You say you came to town to see him. How did you find him?"

Emma turned the glass in her hand. "I find people," she admitted. "It's kind of my job."

Regina's dark brows drew together. "You're... what, exactly?"

Emma hesitated. "I guess you could call it private investigator," she said. "I work as a bail bondsman as well. Anything that needs done." 

"Not exactly a stable life," the Mayor said, leaning back in her chair.

"You have no idea." Emma looked down into the glass, then back up. "It's been ten years. I just wanted to know I made the right choice for him." She hesitated again, her fingers tensing on the glass. "Is he always so alone? So serious?"

Regina's cheek twitched. "He's had a hard time lately," she said. "I have responsibilities in the town, and that takes up a lot of my time. Henry was used to being the focus of my attention. He's not used to sharing, and it seems to be bothering him." She smiled slightly. This time, it didn't reach her eyes. "We have a good therapist in town, who's trying to help him through it. Archie Hopper."

Emma nodded. "Kids don't like change," she murmured. She took another sip of the drink, then met Regina's eyes. "Would you mind if I spoke to this Doctor? I mean, just to see if there's anything I can do to help?"

Regina nodded. "Of course," she said. "I want you to know Henry is well and happy. You don't need to worry about that."

Emma could almost hear the words that were going unsaid: The sooner you're sure, the sooner you will leave.

They spoke for a little longer, formal and awkward, about Henry's progress and development. By the time Emma departed, her glass was empty. The wind outside was up, brisk and cool, and she headed back in the direction of the centre of town. She was passing the diner when she saw the sign for Doctor Hopper's practise. 

Emma hesitated, then crossed the road. Bay would be wondering where she was, but - as Regina also thought - the sooner she felt better about Henry's welfare, the sooner she could get her friend out of Storybrooke and back to regular, boring, everyday life. 

The Doctor was a decent guy, quietly spoken and polite. As Regina promised, he handed her Henry’s files, and told her that aside from his natural anxieties and enthusiastic imagination, Henry was a healthy, bright boy, who was maturing well. It was some comfort to know that he had people who clearly cared about him.

“You sure it’s okay for me to borrow these?” she said, holding the files up.

The doctor smiled. “Take as long as you need,” he said. “I can only imagine how anxious you must be to know that he’s doing well.”

Emma left, the file under her arm, and headed back in the direction of the inn. She was surprised to see Bay approaching from the opposite direction, a pensive look on his face. He didn’t even seem to notice her, as he made his way up the steps.

Emma ran up the steps behind him, touching his shoulder.

He whirled around, startled, then smiled, quick and bright. “Hey.”

“Hey you,” she replied. “Good walk?”

He nodded. “Went down to the beach,” he said. “It’s quiet there.” He glanced down at the file in her arm. “Don’t tell me you got work while we’re here?”

Emma shook her head. “Henry’s mom ran into me,” she said. “We talked, and she wanted to reassure me. These are Henry’s records from his therapist.”

Bay opened the door and followed her up the stairs to their room. “Henry’s mom? The Mayor?”

“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Emma said, as he unlocked the door. “Busy, tense, but she was worried about him.”

“Mm.” Bay headed into the room, shedding his jacket.

“Mm? What’s mm?”

Bay sat down on the daybed to unlace his boots, and glanced up at her. “She came and spoke to me in the diner a couple of days ago,” he said. “She was playing nice, but I could tell she wasn’t happy that there were strangers in her precious little town. I don’t think she’ll be any happier knowing who you are.”

Emma grimaced. “Yeah,” she said. “She wasn’t pleased.” She held up the files. “I think she wants us to get what we came for and get out of town.”

Bay snorted quietly. “I bet.” He kicked his boots off, then wandered over to fall down on his bed, his hands behind his head. “I can guess what it’ll say too. Overactive imagination. Bright boy. Needs to look outwards.”

She didn’t ask how he knew. Someone who had been through the care system would have a file a mile long and would know how to play it. He’d never admitted being in care, but he’d never denied it either. If he hadn’t been, then his experience in rehab and his time in the correctional facilities would have had a similar record.

All the places were the same. If you could play nice with others and act like you were just a regular person, the sooner you got out. The more you fought the system, the harder it came down on you.

“The doctor seems a decent guy.”

Bay looked at her from beneath his lashes. “Don’t they always?”

Emma sat down on the edge of her own bed. “I know this place has got you on edge,” she said quietly. “But maybe it’s okay. I mean, the people seem nice, and there’s plenty for a kid to do.”

“And the Mayor?” Bay said, his eyes still half-closed.

Emma hesitated. For all that she wanted to assume the best, there was something about Regina that put her on her guard. She figured it was just the authority figure thing. She never did well with people who were in charge.

“She’s worried about Henry,” she said. “She cares about him.”

“She’s also trying to drive us out of town,” Bay observed.

Emma sat back on her own bed. “She wants us to leave,” she said with a sigh, “and we can’t really blame her for that.” She pulled up the pillow behind her back. “Bay, we’re not meant to be here and you know it. The adoption was closed. We were never even meant to see him, let alone talk to him.”

“So she’s hostile and angry at us and tries to bully us into leaving,” he said quietly. “She was doing that before she even knew who you were to Henry. Before she even met you, she was trying to get rid of us. How do you explain that?”

Emma didn’t reply. 

The simple fact was that Bay was inclined to wariness of everyone, reading hostility in every interaction. It wasn’t that he was paranoid, not wholly. A lot of it came down to being screwed over again and again by people who were powerful or wealthy or both.

“Maybe I’m just imagining it,” Bay said when she remained silent. “But I don’t think she’d want us here, whether Henry was around or not.”

“Maybe,” Emma murmured. She glanced at him. “Have you slept at all today?”

He didn’t immediately reply, then he nodded.

“Here?”

A furtive look crossed his face. “The Sheriff let me rest in the station,” he said. “It was quieter there than it is here.”

“The Sheriff…” Emma groaned. “Bay, just because he looks like the one you lost doesn’t mean that he is.”

Bay closed his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly. “But he doesn’t make me feel like an idiot when I have an attack outside. He just gives me space and peace and it’s okay.” He tilted his head, opening his eyes to look at her. “That’s what I need just now.”

She sighed. “Just… don’t think he‘s the same guy and start getting attached,” she said. “You know we can’t stay too long, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” he said, just as quietly. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from her and curled his arm under his head. “I’m going to rest some more. Let me know if there’s anything interesting in the files.”

Emma didn’t even bother to reply.

The contents of Henry’s files were pretty much exactly as Bay predicted. 

The comfort was that Henry was a good, smart kid. Just because he had an overactive imagination didn’t mean that there was something seriously wrong with him. And sometimes, kids could just be awkward.

She was almost done when there was a brisk knock at the door.

Bay rolled over to look at her, frowning. “Are we expecting anyone?”

“I wasn’t,” she replied, getting up off the bed. She set the files down, then went and opened the door, surprised to see the Sheriff there. “Graham?“ He looked uncharacteristically serious and she folded her arms. Behind her, Bay swung off his bed, getting up to approach. “Has something happened?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me,” Graham said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I had a call from Doctor Hopper. He said you forced your way into his office, demanding to see Henry’s files.”

Emma stared at him blankly. “He said what now?”

“The doctor said that?” Bay said, just behind her.

The Sheriff looked at him unhappily. “I’m obliged to investigate any crimes that are reported,” he said. “No matter how unlikely they sound.”

“So he’s saying what? That I stole them?”

The Sheriff nodded gravely, and spread his hands. “I’m sorry, but I had to come and check.”

Emma’s hands clenched into fists by her sides. She felt Bay’s hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down, but she had a feeling that even kicking the ass of her worst childhood bully wouldn’t help now. “He gave them to me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“He’s telling a different tale,” Graham said. “May I check your room or do I need a search warrant?”

Emma lifted a hand and rubbed her brow. “Okay, fine, come in,” she said, pulling the door wide. She stalked back to her bed, gathering up the files and closing them up. “This what you’re looking for?”

Graham looked down at the file, as if he wished it was anything else. “I’m afraid you’re under arrest, Miss Swan.”

She heard Bay swear quietly, heard him retreating several steps behind her. “Bay,” she said softly, calmly. “It’s fine. We’ll get this sorted out. I’m not going anywhere.” She raised her eyes to Graham, and could see the apology there. “You know I’m being set up, don’t you?”

“I’m only doing my job,” he replied. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Emma risked a glance at Bay. He was leaning against the wall, ghost-pale and she could see he looked ill. It must have come as a shock, she thought distantly, for him to be proven right about the Mayor, especially when she had dismissed it so easily.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said. “I promise.”

He nodded, wrapping his arms across his middle, as she was led out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Things had gone from bad to worse.

The Queen made her move, never realising that by pushing Emma, she only made Emma want to fight back. Bay wasn't sure how much Emma had wanted to stay in town before, but the instant someone tried to drive her out, that was the instant she dug in her heels, set her teeth, and refused to be moved. 

As if having Emma framed for theft and arrested wasn't bad enough, the Mayor used town ordinances to have them kicked out of the inn, citing that there was a 'no felons' policy in place. 

If they had been any other couple, they might have been cowed by it, but Bay knew they'd been through worse. If they had to live out of the car again, they could, but he also knew that if the Queen was working within the law for now, there would be a point where she would put that aside. Power had a way of messing people up, where the rules no longer applied, and all it took was a push.

Emma would be the target.

She was the one who was openly taking a stand against the Queen.

Bay knew he should have gone after Emma, when she was bailed, but he went to find the psychiatrist instead, to find out why he'd lied and what was really going on with Henry. It didn’t tell him more than he already know: that the Mayor had everyone under her thumb. He should have gone with Emma. If he had, she might not have made things worse by taking a chainsaw to Madame Mayor's apple tree. 

But then, if he had gone with her, he wouldn't have been in Doctor Hopper's office when Henry rushed in, in tears.

Emma followed close behind, and that was when Bay realised Emma wasn't just staying for him. She was staying for Henry too. She spoke to him softly, comfortingly, and when the boy clung onto her, Bay could see the shock and wonder in her expression. She'd never planned on being a mom, but her child needed her, and she wanted to help him.

So they stayed, and he knew Emma had realised just how fine a line they were treading.

They had no real right to be there, and they couldn't be seen pursuing Henry. If they crossed paths, it was fine. If he happened to run into them over breakfast at the diner, they could feign that they had not arranged to meet him there. 

More importantly, Emma was getting caught up in the town. She and the woman who was her mother had struck up a friendship, and Mary Margaret had even offered them a place to stay after finding them camped out in the bug. Emma hated to owe anyone, and politely refused.

"You should have gone with her," Bay said quietly. "It's a bed. You're not the skinny kid you were."

Emma looked at him. "You wouldn't have come, would you?"

Bay hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm not good being around strangers," he said. 

"And I'm not leaving you on your own," Emma said simply. "You need someone to be around when you sleep."

He smiled crookedly, as she folded herself up in the back seat. "I have a hideout where I can nap during the day," he said. "You know I don't sleep at night."

She snorted, draping her jacket over her. "You need someone to watch your back," she said. "I'm not leaving."

He watched her over the back of the passenger seat. "Same," he said quietly. She would never believe it, not when she was the stronger one in the relationship, but he also knew that the Queen - the Mayor - was losing patience. 

There was a choice to be made, and he knew that as much as it scared him, he had to act. He was the only person aside from Henry who believed in the curse and that Emma had a part to play. Emma had to be protected, at all costs.

Push came to shove a few days later.

Emma was conspiring with Henry. He was sure that he'd found Prince Charming, a coma patient in the hospital, and Emma - together with Mary Margaret - was working to prove to him that his book was nothing more than a story. Mary Margaret had agreed to read to the coma patient and report in over breakfast.

Bay couldn't face seeing Henry's heart breaking, so he'd retreated to the Sheriff's station, taking drinks with him.

Graham was in as early as ever and smiled in greeting.

"Busy day ahead?" Bay asked, setting down the coffee on Graham's desk.

"No more than usual," Graham replied. "Here for the quiet or for a rest?"

Bay winced. "You heard about the inn?"

Graham nodded. "If you need somewhere," he said, "I've got a sofa bed you can use. You and Emma would be welcome to stay at my place." He shrugged. "It's not much, but it's better than sleeping in a car."

Bay swallowed hard. It was tempting to jump, to take the offer, to be around this man who was and wasn’t one of his dearest friends, but just as he felt uncomfortable accepting the hospitality of Mary Margaret Blanchard, he knew Emma would be wary of taking the Sheriff's offer, no matter how decent a man he was. 

"We're okay for now," he said. He hastily turned away. "Okay if I use the cell? Emma took the backseat last night."

"Of course," Graham replied. "Thanks for the coffee."

Bay retreated to the cell, holding his own cup of tea between his hands like a talisman. Emma had no idea how much he was taking refuge in the Sheriff's company. It felt safer to hide with him than to risk walking out in Storybrooke and crossing paths with the man who might be his father. Sometimes, he ventured to the beach or forest, but most often, the peace of the Sheriff's station was his refuge.

He had barely laid his head down when he heard the clatter of heels in the lobby.

"Graham!"

Bay scrambled upright on the low bunk, looking warily towards the door as the Queen stalked into the station. She stopped dead, her dark eyes narrowing with suspicion when she saw him.

"What is he doing here?" she demanded, as Graham hurried out of his office.

Graham flushed, as if he'd been caught committing a crime. "I felt bad for him, sleeping in the car," he said. "No one was using the bunk, so I didn't see the harm."

The Mayor's red lips pressed together. "Is this a guest house?" she demanded, her hands on her hips. "Or are you running the Sheriff's station?"

Bay watched Graham's face. Curly, as he was, would have been quietly defiant, but the curse, the magic that had suffocated every person in town, still lay heavily on him. He glanced at Bay with a brief, helpless smile, as if he had no real choice in the matter. He didn't. The Queen or the Mayor or whoever she was had him in her control.

"It's fine," Bay said quietly. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

Regina's eyes flicked over him from head to toe. "Your friend could learn from your example," she said darkly. She turned her attention back to the Sheriff. "Graham, we have business to attend to at the hospital."

Graham nodded to Bay. "I'll see you," he said.

Bay made his way towards the door, watching them depart. Regina was in the lead, her heels clacking on the floor, and Graham followed silently. Bay couldn't remember ever being so angry. Everything that made Curly himself was gone. The wild wolf boy he had been, the free spirit, had been leashed and silenced. She'd all but put a muzzle on him.

Emma. Graham. Even Henry. They were all being hurt by her.

If there was one thing Bay couldn't stand by and watch, it was seeing people he cared about getting hurt. He never had been able to tolerate it. The anger seemed to be pushing aside the fear. They needed to be protected. Someone needed to draw her eye. Someone needed to stop her from targeting them.

That was why he was sitting on her front step that night when she came home with Henry.

He didn't know where Emma was. Last he'd heard, she and Snow White were chasing Prince Charming through the forest with Graham. She'd called to let him know she'd be late for dinner at the diner, and he wasn't one to get in the way of a family day trip. 

Regina stopped dead, staring at him with the same wary hostility that she’d shown in the Sheriff’s station. She put out her hand, stopping Henry where he was.

“Hi, Bay,” Henry said with a quick smile.

“Hey, Henry.” Bay rose from the step. “Madam Mayor. I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

Regina’s hand tightened on Henry’s shoulder. “If it’s to accuse me of hiding Mrs Nolan away…”

Bay shook his head, holding up his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. “I don’t know any Mrs Nolan,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you, if that’s all right.” He tried to smile. “Just talk.”

She stared at him, as if she suspected him of some crime, then nodded. She stepped around him and up the steps, unlocking the door of the house. “Inside, Henry,” she said briskly. “Your supper is in the kitchen.”

The boy scurried into the house, disappearing through the hall.

Bay followed them in, stopping just inside the door.

The Mayor didn’t look at him right away. She stood, her keys clasped in her hand, then turned. “This way,” she said, leading him into a pristine, organised living room. It seemed Henry wasn’t allowed there, or at least, if he was, he was made to keep it tidy. Bay had seen the inside of enough homes to know that where kids lived, chaos usually followed.

He took a seat when the Mayor indicated to the couch, trying to keep from flinching or bolting when she shut the door, closing him in with her.

“Drink?” she said.

He shook his head quickly. “No. Thank you.”

Her dark eyes fixed on his face again, scrutinising, suspicious. She sat down on one of the chairs, crossing one leg over the other. “So, you wanted to talk, Mr Taylor,” she said, uncurling her hand in a slight, dismissive gesture. “Talk.”

Bay folded his hands together to keep them from shaking, squeezing them between his knees. “I know you and Emma have been butting heads lately,” he said quietly, knowing he had to tread carefully. “She’s a reactive person. If someone pushes her, she’ll push back.”

The woman snorted. “She picked the wrong person to push back,” she said, a darkness in her tone that made him shiver.

Bay took a breath. He looked up, met her eyes. “She didn’t come here because of Henry,” he said, the words coming out sharper than he wanted them to. “She came here, because I asked her to bring me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And why would you want to do that?”

Bay glanced over his shoulder towards the door, then back at her. He had to be brave, for Emma’s sake, for Henry’s sake, for Graham. “Because I wanted a chance to see my son.”

She didn’t managed to hide her shock, her dark eyes widening. “What?”

Bay lifted his head. “I’m Henry’s father,” he said. “I didn’t know he existed until six months ago, and when Emma told me…”

“When she told you?” There was malice in the woman’s voice. “She didn’t even tell you before she gave up your child?”

“She didn’t have a choice,” Bay said. His hands ached, crushed between his knees, but the pain was helping him keep calm, letting him speak as if retreading the past wasn’t making him shudder to his bones. “We were both young. In a bad place for a child. I ended up in a hospital for a long time, and by the time she and I found each other again, Henry was here, with you, in a good home.”

Perhaps he’d told her too much.

He didn’t know.

As much as the curse had taken the souls out of the people in the town, it had torn the heart out of its Queen.

She tapped a long-nailed fingertip on the arm of the chair. “Hospital?”

His smile was well-practised. It was the same one he had shown doctors and therapists. 

“Like I said,” he replied, “we were in a bad place.” He watched her as he spoke. “My childhood wasn’t great. My mother abandoned me, and my father was…” He was silent for a moment, then said finally, “Addiction is hereditary.”

He could almost see the relief. No. Not relief. Triumph.

Even if he contested paternity rights, as a previously unknowing father, he knew that by showing her all of Bailey Taylor’s cards, she would never feel that he was a threat: a self-confessed addict with a history of time in institutions was unlikely to be a threat to the custody of a respected, upstanding Mayor.

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “So you came to be sure that your son wasn’t in the hands of people like your parents?”

He nodded. “I can see he has a comfortable home,” he said. “Everything a kid could want.”

The triumph gave way to smug pride. “Yes,” she said. “I make sure my son has everything that he needs.”

Financially, perhaps, but he knew Henry was unhappy. He knew Emma saw it too. They’d both been around unhappy, lonely, neglected kids for far too long. You could buy a child all the toys in the world, but it didn’t make up for someone being distant and uncaring.

That was what Henry was seeking.

He needed someone who cared for him, not for what he was.

The woman in front of Bay lacked the capacity to care. She didn’t care about what happened to her son, as long as he was hers. What she saw was a rival for her authority and for her son’s affections, not someone who might care for the boy too. 

“So, you’ve seen he’s fine,” the Mayor said, leaning back in her seat.. “Is that your only reason for being here?”

“It’s the only reason I came,” Bay said honestly, though it was certainly not his only reason for staying. He offered her a small smile. “And it’s nice to be away from the city for a few days. It’s so quiet here.”

She was watching him intently, dark eyes unreadable. “You should come for dinner,” she said suddenly, catching him off-guard. 

“Huh?”

Her smile was quick and sharp as a knife edge. “Henry’s never had a father-figure,” she said, tracing a circle on the arm of the chair with her fingertip. “I think it might do him good to see that he did have a father once.”

Bay was off-balance. For all she was working to drive Emma out, why would she invite him in? “What about Emma?” he asked.

The Mayor made a dismissive gesture with one hand. You said yourself that Miss Swan only came here because of you,” she said. “She didn’t come to find her son. You did. I think that speaks measures.”

There was something in her eyes, a strange hunger that made his gut clench.

There was no reason for her to invite him in, this broken Queen, this dangerous woman, who would kill and maim to get what she wanted. Why she would invite the biological father of her son into her home, to play happy families…

Bay felt like acid had dripped down his spine.

That was exactly what she was doing.

She had the perfect home right down to the white picket fence. She had all the power and authority in the town. She had the child. But there was something missing from the scene that would stop it being a picture-perfect little family.

She wanted it all.

Husband, child, family.

She had a town of people subservient to her will, every one of whom she hated. Of course she would want someone from outside that stagnant pool. The first man to come in from the outside world, who just so happened to conveniently be the biological father of her son.

Bay forced a smile onto his lips.

“That would be great,” he lied.

For a moment, her smile seemed almost real, bright and happy.

It was like his father, all over again: the smile of a man who had just murdered a mute girl to keep a secret. Pleasure in getting what he wanted, delight in controlling his fate, and utterly unaware of how much he was repelling Bay in the process.

But then, he thought, he would have time with Henry. Time as Henry’s father, without the need for subterfuge. He could protect Emma, distract Regina, and see the child who was his unknowing son.

It was true that when the curse broke, Regina would probably come after him, but as long as Emma and Henry were safe, that was the important thing.

“How about Saturday evening?” she suggested, and just for a moment, she sounded like a normal, happy woman. “I have council meetings all day, but I’ll be home by five. If you come around about six?”

Bay’s face was hurting from the effort of smiling. “That should be okay,” he said. “You don’t mind if we stick around a little longer?”

She shook her head. “A child needs to know his father,” she said, rising from her chair. “And I hate to chase you out, Mr Taylor, but I really should make sure Henry’s finished his supper and getting ready for bed.”

“Of course,” he said, rising too. “And please. Call me Bailey.”

She looked like a child, bright-eyed and pleased. “Bailey,” she said. She was still smiling when she showed him out the door, and Bay managed to keep his hands from shaking until he was down the steps and out the front gate.

Only when he was out of sight of the house did he brace his hand against the fence and take a ragged, gulping breath. 

He knew he should go back to the car, to find Emma, but he couldn’t face that, not until he felt steadier on his feet, not until he felt like he could breathe again. He made his way back in the direction of main street and stumbled to sit on the first bench he could find. 

He was still sitting there twenty minutes later, his head resting against the back of the bench, his eyes closed. He heard the footfalls approaching, but didn’t turn his head or look until someone sat down on the bench beside him.

“Hey,” Emma said quietly.

Bay sat up. “Hey,” he replied, just as quietly. He searched her face. She looked like hell, drawn and pale. “Bad day?”

She met his eyes. “There’s something wrong about this place,” she said. “About that woman, the Mayor. I don’t know what it is, but we can’t leave Henry here. Not until we know he’s safe.”

It wasn’t the sound of a curse breaking, but he knew it was a start..

He covered her hand with his.

“We need places to stay,” he said. “Does Mary Margaret’s offer still stand?”

She looked at him in surprise. “You’d stay there?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been offered a room too,” he said. “You should stay with her, and I’ll stay elsewhere.”

“Who with?” she asked, frowning.

Bay felt the colour warming his cheeks. “The Sheriff offered me somewhere. Us, actually.”

“But you’d like to have alone time and see if he is who you think?” Emma said with a small, crooked smile. “If you want me out of your hair, I’ll stay with Mary Margaret. If you’re sure it’s a good idea. You know he’s not your friend, don’t you?”

Bay nodded. “I know,” he said. “But I know that after you, he’s the first person I feel safe around, and I’d feel better staying with him than getting in Mary Margaret’s way.” He glanced back down the street. "And maybe if she doesn't see us together, it'll bother her less that we’re still around.”

Emma’s fingers tightened around his. “We’ll meet at the diner every morning,” she said. “Just to keep up on everything.”

Bay nodded. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “Did you find Prince Charming?”

Emma leaned sideways, her shoulder coming to rest against his. “That’s a whole other story,” she said. “Our John Doe coma patient apparently has a wife. Her Mayoryness managed to conveniently find her right after the guy woke up.”

“Of course she did,” Bay murmured. He rested his cheek against her head. “All I wanted to know was that he had a nice, normal family. Is that so difficult?”

Emma sighed. “Looks that way,” she said. “But we’re here now.”

He nodded, trying not to think of what he might have to face. “We are.”


	6. Chapter 6

The weird thing about living at Mary Margaret’s place was that it wasn’t weird.

Emma wasn’t good at sharing her personal space, especially not with a woman her own age with whom she had nothing in common, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like they had known each other for years, that they just got each other.

As much as she worried about Bay, she knew that if he’d stayed with them, there wouldn’t have been the same relaxed relationship. Mary Margaret and Bay would have tiptoed around one another on eggshells, especially since it sounded like everyone in town knew about Bay’s anxiety attacks.

He seemed to be doing okay, all things considered. They met up every morning at the diner, and he almost looked calm, even If she could see the way he always kept one eye on her, and one eye on their surroundings. Still, he said he was going for walks in the forest and keeping out of the way of people, and it was putting some colour back in his pale cheeks.

He never really was a city guy. Nature suited him.

As much as he was staying out of the way of people, she seemed to be having run ins with everyone: the Mayor in the diner, sneering over the fact she was separated from her ‘lover’, the pregnant maid, the Sheriff again. 

And most unexpectedly, someone came to her for help.

Emma’s possessions had been delivered, and she was unpacking them. Mary Margaret was making them brunch when there was a knock at the door, and much to both their surprise, Mr Gold was standing there. He didn’t look happy to be there, and he practically ignored Mary Margaret, fixing his eyes on Emma.

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Swan,” he said. “I need your help. I’m looking for someone.”

He left her cold, this man. There was something distant and hard about him that put her on edge, and she knew she didn’t like or trust him one little bit. 

Still, she was in a new place, without work, and with bills and rent to help with, and if that meant dealing with him, she knew she’d dealt with far worse. A glance at Mary Margaret sent the other woman scurrying away out of sight.

Gold withdrew a photograph from his pocket, holding it out, and Emma’s heart sank. It was the pregnant girl from the diner, the one who looked like she was about to fall to pieces over her forthcoming child. 

“Her name is Ashley Boyd,” Gold said quietly, walking into the apartment without waiting for permission. “She’s taken something quite valuable of mine.”

Emma closed the door behind him. “So why don’t you just go to the police?” she asked.

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing up what he was going to say. “Because she’s a confused young woman,” he said. “She’s pregnant, alone, scared.” His expression said he was being sincere, but it was too sincere, too genuine. “I don’t want to ruin this young girl’s life. I just want my property returned.”

It felt like he was seeing too much, using the right words, as if he knew exactly what Emma’s past had been, that she had been a girl in exactly those circumstances. 

She searched his face. “What is it?” she asked.

He glanced around, as if expecting Mary Margaret to be listening. “Well, one of the advantages of you not being the police is discretion. Let’s just say that it’s a precious object and leave it at that.”

Emma folded the picture between her fingers, gazing at him. “When did you see her last?” she asked.

“Last night,” he said. He drew back his hair from his temple, revealing a shallow cut. “It’s how I got this.”

Emma was surprised. Ashley hadn’t seemed the violent type, or even a pro-active kind of person, and to steal something with force, it had to be something very valuable to her, as well as to Gold. 

Gold agreed, though the idea of the nervous, wary teenager and Gold knowing one another in any context seemed jarring. There was something off about the whole thing. Something wasn’t right, and that put Emma on edge.

“So you’ll help me, then?” he said, watching her as intently as she was watching him.

Emma folded her arms. “I’ll help her,” she said.

“Grand,” he replied, smiling that small, almost convincing smile. He paused for a moment and glanced around, as if looking for someone. Bay, she realised. He was wondering if Bay was in the apartment.

Fortunately, before he could ask, the door opened.

“Hey, Emma,” Henry said, hurrying in. “I was thinking we…” He stopped dead at the sight of Mr Gold. It seemed to be the general response, from what she’d seen around town.

Mr Gold glanced at him, and for a moment, the smile seemed more genuine. “Hey, Henry,” he said. “How are you?”

Henry remained where he was, as if he was rooted to the spot. “Okay?”

Gold glanced at Emma, who inclined her head towards the door. “Good,” he said, making his way around her and Henry. “Give my regards to your mother.” He paused and looked back at Emma. “And good luck, Miss Swan.”

For all that Henry’s unexpected visit was welcome, Emma tried to send him away after she changed. She could hardly take a kid on the hunt for a runaway, pregnant teenage thief. God knew he didn’t need to understand why it was so important to her.

When he wouldn’t take no for an answer, she told him to wait in the car and took out her cell and called Bay.

“What’s up?”

She smiled crookedly. Only one person ever phoned him, and he knew she would only do that in an emergency. “I got a temporary job,” she said, “but Henry’s wanting to tag along with me. You want to go halves on it? I want to keep him out of trouble if I can.”

“Sure,” Bay replied. “What is it? Where do you need me?”

“I’m looking for a girl,” Emma said. “She’s stolen something, and the owner wants it back.”

Bay was silent for a moment. “Do they want her too?” he asked warily.

“Just their possession,” she replied, leaning against the wall by the door. 

“What is it she took?”

“He didn’t say,” Emma said, then bit her lip. Of all the people to come asking her for help, it was unlikely that anyone would expect Gold to do that. But Bay could be paranoid, and from the way his breath caught, she knew that’s what he was afraid of.

“Who?” he asked. “Who’s after her?”

Emma rubbed her forehead. “Gold,” she said, knowing that lying to him would be even worse.

“You’re working for him?” Bay exclaimed. “Emma, you don’t know what he might be like!”

“Nor do you,” she pointed out, trying to keep her voice calm and placating. “Bay, we don’t know he’s who you think. It’s just a job, getting back some stolen property for a man who looks like your father. That’s all.”

She could hear his breathing, ragged and unsteady. “That’s all?” he said, his voice trembling. “You’re sure that’s all? There’s no catch? No trick?”

“That’s what he said to me,” Emma said softly. “Bay, he doesn’t want this girl to be locked up or separated from her kid. That’s why he came to me instead of the Sheriff. All he wants is his property back.”

Bay was silent for a long while. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll help you look. But if there’s anything wrong about this, if she’s in any danger, he’s not getting her.”

Emma sighed. “Bay, do you think I’d let him hurt her?”

“No! Of course not!” he exclaimed. “I just…” He exhaled noisily. “You know how I get, Emma. You know I worry.”

“I told him I was going to help her,” Emma murmured. “I didn’t agree to help him. I’m in this to help her. Can you do that with me?”

“Yes. Of course.” She could hear him struggling to gather himself, to calm himself down. She let him take a moment, waiting, and he finally said, more strongly, “Do you have a picture of the girl we’re looking for?”

“I’ll send you a photo of the picture I have, when we‘re done on the call,” Emma replied. “I’m going to hit the diner. You try the inn? I know she works for Granny, so she could be at either of those places.”

“What do I do if I find her?”

Emma hesitated. She didn’t want to take the girl straight to Gold without knowing the full story. “Find out what you can from her,” she said. “If you can persuade her to give back what she stole, if we can end this without her having to see him, I think it would be better.”

“Okay,” Bay said. “If I find her, I’ll let you know.”

“Same,” Emma said. “Take care, okay?”

She ended the call, then used her cell to take a picture of the security snap that Gold had provided her with. 

“Hey, Emma!” Henry yelled up from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you coming already?”

She grabbed her coat. “Just a second, kid!”

Turned out that Ashley had at least one friend in Ruby, who could tell them something about her background and where to find other people who had been involved. The baby’s father was a prime suspect, but she was halfway up the steps to his house when her cell buzzed.

“Bay?”

“I found your girl,” he said. His voice was clipped and curt. “She’s got the merchandise that bastard was looking for.”

“Is she willing to give it back?”

“I don’t think so,” Bay said. “And I’m not about to let him take it.”

Emma felt like her gut was knotting. “Bay, what is it?”

“He wants her kid.”

Emma stumbled, leaning against the porch. “What?” she asked faintly. 

“Her kid. He made her sign a contract to get the kid farmed out.” Bay sounded angrier than she’d ever heard him before. “She said that her boyfriend’s dad arranged the deal, but I know she was tricked into it.”

“Bay, I won’t let him take the baby.”

“That doesn’t matter now,” he said abruptly. “She’s taken Ruby’s car. She’s heading out of town. And right now, I’m not about to stop her.”

Emma pressed her hand to her brow. “Jesus,” she whispered under her breath. She straightened up, heading back towards the car. “Bay, if she runs, he has every right to send the law after her, if she’s signed legal documents for the adoption.”

“So he has the right to take an innocent girl’s child from her?” Bay snapped. 

“Bay,” Emma protested. “If we’re going to stop this from happening, we have to do it the right way. We can’t let her run.”

“Why?” Bay asked.

“Did it work for either of us?” It came out too sharp, cruel even, but he needed to hear it.

She heard him take a sharp breath. “No,” he agreed.

“No,” she said softly. “Bay, she’s a kid. She needs help. We can help her. Which way was she going?”

“You’ll keep her safe?”

“You and me both,” Emma said. “Which way?”

“She was taking some of the backstreets to avoid being seen,” Bay replied, “but heading for the road we came in on. She said something about aiming for Boston.”

Emma ran back to the car, scrambling into the driver’s seat.

“Were they out?”

“They don’t matter,” Emma said, pulling away from the sidewalk. “Bay found her. She’s leaving town.”

“What?” Henry exclaimed. “She can’t leave town! Bad things happen to people who try!”

“We don’t have time to do anything with the curse,” Emma said. “I’m going to drop you off, and go after her.”

“You have to stop her before she gets hurt!” Henry protested. “We’re wasting time! If you drop me off, you’ll never catch up to her!”

“Henry,” Emma said impatiently.

“And then Mr Gold’ll call the police and he’ll have her sent to jail.”

Emma winced, remembering her own time in juvenile hall. What made it worse was being pregnant with a child she knew she couldn’t keep, worrying about a friend who she had lost, who could be getting hurt himself. 

He was right. They needed to find Ashley.

“Buckle up,” she said, and put her foot down.

Much to her dismay, Henry’s prediction was proved right.

They found Ashley’s car driven off the road just short of the town boundary, the door wide open. There was no sign of the girl near the vehicle and Emma scrambled out the bug, rushing closer. She heard a cry of pain, and scrambled up a verge to find Ashley sunk down on the grass, panting, her hands on her stomach.

Ashley looked up at them, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s coming,” she sobbed.

It took some work, but they got her into the bug despite her protests, and turned back in the direction of town to get her to the hospital. Emma passed her cell back to Henry to call Bay and let him know they were coming back. 

Even if she’d wanted to take the girl out of town, Emma could see the labour was way too far gone for that and delivering a baby wasn’t high on her resume. 

Bay met them at the hospital, grim-faced, but he managed a quick smile for Ashley as she was rushed into the maternity suite. As soon as she was out of sight, he turned to Emma.

“What do we do?” he asked.

Emma shooed Henry over to the waiting room, and leaned closer to Bay. “I don’t think the contract she signed would be one-hundred percent legal,” she said quietly. “If we can get Gold to back down and admit that he doesn’t have the right to the baby, legally, then we knock down his whole house of cards.”

“Legally?” Bay exclaimed. “Who the hell said anything about legally? He made her sign a contract he knew she wouldn’t understand! She’s nineteen! What the hell does a nineteen year old know about legal documents?”

Emma caught his arm, gripping it tightly. “I knew enough,” she said quietly.

Bay stared at her, the fury in his eyes fading. “Emma, I don’t want to see another kid taken away from its parent,” he said, his voice breaking. “There are too many of us already.”

They both froze at the sound of the step-tap of a man with a cane.

Gold.

Emma’s hold on Bay’s arm tightened. “Don’t do something stupid,” she whispered, lifting her other hand to drag his head down, to make him look at her. He tore his gaze from Gold, blinking as if he couldn’t quite recognise her. “He can’t take the baby,” Emma said softly. “I won’t let him do that.”

He gently brushed her hand off his arm and walked around her, towards the man that she knew he had been avoiding since they first arriving in town.

“Mr Gold,” he said, the name stilted on his lips.

Mr Gold stopped dead, and Emma could see the way his expression flickered, as if for a moment, some other emotion was trying to show itself. Instead, though, he smiled, slightly, thinly, and remained still. “Mr Taylor, isn’t it?”

Bay folded his arms over his chest. “Ashley Boyd isn’t going to let go of her child,” he said, the phrase odd, clipped, and something about it made Gold stiffen his back. Emma could see something flicker in his eyes, but she didn’t know what it was.

“The girl made a deal and signed a contract,” the older man said.

“And deals can’t be broken?” Bay replied coldly. “Deals for a child’s security?”

Gold flinched. Emma was watching for it, almost expecting something. It was like Bay knew exactly which buttons to push. Gold wrapped one hand over the other on the handle of his cane, and his knuckles were almost bone-white with pressure.

“What do you suggest?” he said, through barely parted lips.

Bay was silent, his arms tightly folded, and finally he said, “Break this deal. Let this one go. Out of kindness.” He raised his chin, and bared his teeth. “Or do you plan to walk in there and ruin the lives of two innocents?”

Gold stared at him, his face like a waxen mask. “I yield to your better judgement,” he said after a moment. He inclined his head. “I will have to make arrangements to compensate the would-be parents. Tell Miss Boyd the child is hers.”

Bay said nothing, simply staring him down until Gold turned and walked away. 

Emma approached him, touching his arm. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

Bay’s face was ashen, and he shook his head. She barely managed to get him to one of the chairs before his legs gave way, and she fell to her knees in front of him, letting him fall against her, hugging him as tightly as she could. 

“You did it,” she whispered. “You saved her baby.”

Bay buried his face in her shoulder, shaking silently, and she could feel the hot dampness of tears through her shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

Bay wanted nothing more than to hide himself away.

It was one thing to suspect that Mr Gold was his father. It was another thing entirely to have the evidence of the fact presented to him. It couldn't be a coincidence, not the way the man responded. Bay had chosen the words carefully, and Gold flinched from each and every one.

Or maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see.

Maybe Gold was just being reasonable.

He'd fled from the hospital when Emma and Henry went to see the baby.

Graham's apartment was empty when he got in and he stumbled over to the couch, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. He felt weak, shaking, and that was when it was tempting to lose himself in the lure of the bottle.

He forced himself to breathe in and out slowly, trying to calm the racing of his heart. Henry had called him brave for facing Mr Gold, and he had almost laughed in his son's face. He was a coward. A frightened, weak, trembling coward. Just like his own father had been so long ago. 

His stomach clenched, and he stumbled, barely managing to make it as far as the small bathroom before throwing up.

He didn't know how he could be sick. He couldn't remember eating anything all day. That probably wasn't helping matters.

The wall tiles were cool and he sat back against them, his feet braced on the opposite wall. His face felt hot and damp, and he closed his eyes, just letting the coolness of the bathroom wash over him. The faucet was dripping again. Graham had apologised for it during the grand tour, but Bay didn't mind.

The room was small, and the only light came from a window high up the wall. Same could be said about the whole apartment, really. Graham didn't have much. The kitchen was an arm's length from the couch. There was only enough floor for the couch to open into a bed, with two narrow bookshelves cluttered with all kinds of bits and pieces. The bedroom wasn't much bigger. Graham had smiled sheepishly and said that a Government salary wasn't exactly high.

Still, it was comfortable and clean and it felt safer than a lot of places Bay had been in his time.

He was still sitting there, in the cool, quiet bathroom, when he heard the front door open. It barely made a sound. Graham tended to tread lightly, and Bay knew he wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't already on edge.

Bay pushed himself to his feet and went to the sink, cupping his hand beneath the faucet and scooping some water up to rinse out his mouth. A second handful was splashed on his face, and he towelled his cheeks roughly to bring back at least a little colour. He looked like hell.

"Bay?"

Bay stared at himself in the mirror. "Yeah," he called back. "I'm here." He didn't even bother to try and force a smile onto his face, as he opened the bathroom door and stepped out.

Graham had his back to him.

"Hey," Bay said, sitting down on the arm of the couch.

Graham turned, and for a split-second, Bay felt like he might be the more intact one in the room. There was something hollowed out about Graham's expression, and he was cradling a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Bay could see the bottle behind him. Scotch.

The look in his eyes only lasted as long as the burn of the alcohol, then he smiled. "Good day?" he said.

Bay lifted one shoulder. "Helped a pregnant girl," he said. "Pretty quiet." He frowned. "What about you? I didn't see you on patrol today."

Graham hesitated. "Council meeting," he said, sitting down on the couch. He examined the contents of his glass. "With the Mayor."

Bay shuddered, remembering that he was meant to be going to dinner with her and Henry. "Sounds dull," he offered.

"They didn't used to be so bad," Graham murmured. He sounded like he was a thousand miles away, lost in his thoughts. He drained the contents of his glass and balanced it on his knee. "Do you ever feel," he asked quietly, raising his eyes to Bay, "that you're in a rut, doing things before they're familiar? Safe?"

Bay stared at him. If the curse was real, if the curse was still in place, there was no way he should have been asking those questions. It was shaking. Emma's presence was having an effect, and for the first time, he could see a shard of the man that Graham had been: grave and pensive and not the undamaged, open, friendly Sheriff.

"No," Bay said, his mouth dry. "Can't say I ever had that." He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed Graham's shoulder. "Maybe you need a break?"

Graham looked at his hand, then up at him, and for a heartbreaking instant, Bay felt like he was seeing Curly looking back at him. "Maybe," he said. He rose from the couch, drawing away from Bay's hand, and went to refill his glass. By the time he turned around, he was as he always was. "I'm going to go to the store to get something for dinner," he said. "You want anything?"

Bay shook his head, folding his arms over his middle. "I've got a dinner date," he said.

"Emma?"

Bay offered a noncommittal smile, which Graham took as agreement. "I should probably clean up for it," he said. "I'll catch you later?"

Graham nodded, draining his glass. "I'm going to get some fresh air, but I'll be back later." He made a face. "All day indoors isn't a good thing."

Bay nodded, retreating back to the bathroom to gather himself. The curse was shaking. Sooner or later, the Queen would notice, and if she was as bad as his father had been, then all hell would break loose. He splashed icy cold water on his face, and tried to remember how to breathe steadily.

By the time he emerged, he could at least feign calm.

Graham was gone already.

Bay took a breath and stepped back out into the evening.

The air was crisp, cool, and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he made his way towards the main road. He didn't even notice someone sitting on the bench until she spoke.

"Going somewhere?"

He spun, startled. "Emma?"

She was sprawled against the back of the bench, legs stretched out in front of her. Her hands were wrapped around a coffee cup. She looked up at him. "You took off," she said. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Inside his pockets, his hands curled into knots, his nails biting into his palms. "Better," he said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

Emma got to her feet. "I ran into Graham," she said. "He seemed to think we were meeting up for dinner." She searched Bay's face, and he looked away uncomfortably. "Bay, what's going on?"

He raised his eyes back to hers. "I'm going for dinner at the Mayor's," he said, his voice tight.

She stared at him. "What? Why?"

He shook his head. "I thought it might get her off your back," he confessed quietly. "And Henry." He shrugged helplessly. "She's willing to let me see him with her blessing. What could I say, Emma? It's our son."

She stepped closer to him and put her arms around him, holding him tightly. Bay shivered, then wrapped his arms around her just as fiercely. She was breathing calmly, and she dragged her fingers through his hair. "You don't have to do this," she whispered. "Not if you don't want to."

He almost laughed at the irony of it, coming from the woman fated to save them all. "It's just dinner," he said, drawing back. "What's she going to do? Bake me in a pie?"

"That woman? I wouldn't put it past her," Emma said, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. "If you want to leave, do it. Don't stay if she makes you uncomfortable."

Bay nodded. "I'll call you when I get back," he said. He drew back from her. "You get some rest. You've had a long day."

Emma's lips twitched ruefully. "Yeah," she said. She gave his arm a squeeze. "Don't forget to call me, okay?"

He set on his way, in the direction of the Mayor's house. 

It was only when he was standing on the front step, his hand hesitating an inch from the brass knocker, that he remembered that he should have brought something for the host. It was what polite people did, wasn't it? People who had grown up in houses, with manners?

It was too late now. If he walked away from the door, he knew it would be even more of a struggle to come back.

He lifted the knocker and rapped once.

The Mayor opened the door a moment later, a brilliant smile crossing her face. "You came," she said, opening the door wide to let him in.

"I didn't bring anything," Bay said self-consciously. "I'm sorry."

She touched his arm, lightly, intimately. "Oh, don't worry about that," she said. "I have plenty for all of us." She shut the door behind him, and he fought the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He felt like he had closed himself in a cage with a tiger. "Dinner's almost ready."

"And Henry?"

She glanced towards the stairs. "I told him to go and change for dinner," she said. She turned her too-bright smile back to him. "I told him his father was coming for dinner."

Bay stared at her. "Oh," he said weakly. "I-I hadn't mentioned that to him."

Regina looked surprised. "I would have thought that Miss Swan would have told him." She waved a hand dismissively. "No matter. He knows now, which is better for all of us."

Bay made a small, noncommittal sound in his throat. He wondered if she was as oblivious to the emotions of others before the curse struck, because nothing about his stance or expression said he was happy about the development. He hadn't wanted Henry to know about him, not yet anyway. That way, the boy wouldn't be disappointed if Bay let him down. It was bound to happen. He'd failed so many people so many times.

Regina strode to the bottom of the stairs. "Henry! Will you come down?"

Bay could hear Henry's feet clattering across the floor. He sounded like he was running. Excited, Bay thought distantly. He wanted to know who his father was. Or maybe to see what new story his mother had come up with. He pounded down the stairs, stopping on the landing halfway down. "Bay?"

Bay tried to smile, but his face felt frozen. "Hi, Henry."

Henry looked at his mother, then back at Bay, as he descended the stairs. "I don't understand," he said. "You said my dad would be coming for dinner."

Bay swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "I am," he said.

Henry's eyes widened. "You? You're my dad?"

Bay nodded, his hands shivering by his sides. The breath was driven from him when Henry ran the rest of the way down the stairs and crashed into him, hugging him as tightly as he'd hugged Emma. Bay lifted a trembling hand to touch Henry's hair gently. "Hi," he said, his voice weak.

He risked a glance at Regina from the corner of his eye, and felt something unpleasant twist in his gut at the satisfied look on her face, as if he was dancing to her tune. He gently untangled himself from Henry's arms, though he kept one arm around the boy's shoulders.

“Why did you tell me?” Henry demanded, leaning into him.

“I thought you had enough going on right now,” Bay said, only lying a little. He turned an almost convincing smile on Regina. “You said something about dinner?”

All things considered, it could have been worse.

The years of the curse had given the Mayor plenty of time to hone her cookery skills. She served up thick wedges of lasagne with a sauce so rich that the smell made Bay's mouth water. As uncomfortable as he was feeling, hunger was more powerful. He remembered too many days of an empty belly on the street, days when scraping through trash was the only way he could be sure to eat. Hunger could outweigh fear if you were hungry enough, and he hadn't eaten since morning. It made things a little easier.

Henry had a thousand and one questions, some of which almost made Bay recoil, but he kept his smile on his face and, between careful bites of lasagne, gave away as little as he possible could. Henry knew better than to ask about Emma in front of his mother, but he wanted to know everything about his father. 

"You've been all over, right?"

Bay nodded, cutting the lasagne into bite-sized portions and carefully separating them with the tines of his fork. "I left home when I wasn't much older than you," he said. "Saw the world." He scooped some pasta into his mouth, chewed systematically, swallowed. "It's a big place."

Henry seemed to have forgotten all about his food. "Why did you leave home?" he asked.

Bay's throat felt like it closed, and he had to force the mouthful of lasagne down. "It's a long story," he said, looking down at his plate. "Not a happy one."

Henry had enough of his mother in him to realise it was a topic that was better dropped. "So," he said, after a long pause, "where was your favourite place?"

Bay looked up at him with a small smile. "Right now," he said, "Storybrooke is pretty good."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the satisfaction on Regina's face. It wasn't entirely a lie, because he was here, with his son, and that was pretty good. Terrifying, yes, but no worse because of it. If she thought he meant the town as a whole, let her believe what she wanted to believe, he thought. As much as the town clung around him like a layer of sweat and dirt on his skin, it could be washed off soon enough, when the curse broke. As soon as Henry and Emma and Curly were safe, he could breathe again.

There was apple turnover for dessert, but Bay demurred. He'd eaten more than he normally would already, and there was something about taking apple from the Evil Queen which made him uncomfortable. Henry made up for it, wolfing it down happily.

His mother instructed him to take the dishes to the kitchen, then to go up and have a bath before bed.

"But mom!" Henry protested. "I want to talk to my dad!"

She smiled at him, too sweet and cloying. "There'll be plenty of time for that, honey," she said, rising.

Bay saw the way Henry took a step back from her as she got to her feet. He wasn't afraid of her, but he was wary, and Bay felt the ridiculous impulse to put himself between them. It would be a token gesture, he knew, and it would only serve to annoy her.

Instead, he got up as well. "How about Henry and I do the dishes?" he offered. "That way, the kitchen is cleaned up, and you get a break? We can talk after."

Regina looked at him in surprise. "That would be very kind of you," she said, sounding puzzled. "You don't mind?"

He smiled his best, most practised smile. "You're a busy woman," he said. "You deserve a break, and it'll make up for the fact I didn't bring anything."

"All right," she agreed. "Henry, show Mr Taylor into the parlour when you're done."

Henry nodded obediently, watching as his mother stalked from the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, he hurried around the edge of the table. "Are you here for Operation Cobra?" he asked in an urgent whisper. "Did Emma send you?"

Bay shook his head, bending down closer to Henry. "I'm here to make sure your mom doesn't notice Operation Cobra," he confided. "If she's distracted by me, she won't pay so much attention to Emma, and she can work on breaking the curse."

Henry's face split in a grin. "A diversion?"

Bay couldn't help smiling. "Something like that," he said. He looked at the table. "We should probably do the dishes."

Henry made a face. "There's a dishwasher," he said.

Bay feigned shock. "And here I was, thinking you'd want to spend time with me."

Henry was silent for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Bay's waist again, clinging to him tightly. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered. "I'm glad you believe me." He shivered suddenly. "I'm glad you don't think I'm crazy."

Bay's heart broke for the kid, and he sank down into the seat, drawing Henry to stand between his knees. As scared as he was, he could find a little courage for his son, the child who had been on his own in a cursed town and so brave for so long. 

"You're not crazy," he said gently. "I've seen the world in your book. I know those places. Those stories." He lifted Henry's chin with a curled finger and met the boy's eyes. "We're going to make it right, you hear me?"

Henry flung his arms around Bay's neck, his small fingers digging into Bay's back, and he nodded.

Bay put his arms around the boy and held him. Just for a moment, he told himself. He remembered another time, another place, when he had been held, when his father had promised they would be all right. He wasn't his father. He would never resort to magic to protect his loved ones. He would never choose power over them, not ever.

"C'mon," he said, his voice shaking. He swallowed hard, then gently pushed Henry back. "We have dishes to do."

Henry helped him carry the stacked dishes back through to the kitchen. "So are you and Emma dating?" he asked, as Bay filled the sink with hot water and bubbles.

Bay almost dropped the glass he was holding. "What?"

"You and Emma," Henry said. "I mean, you were dating once, if you had a baby, right?"

The blush rose like a tide. "Sort of," Bay said, flustered, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. He started washing the dishes, in the hopes it would distract Henry. "Can you dry?"

Henry nodded, fetching a cloth.

"So," he said, less than a minute later, "are you?"

Bay scrubbed ferociously at one of the plates. "Not exactly," he said. "We've very good friends."

Henry studied him, then started drying the dishes as he washed them. "Is it weird?" he asked. 

"Being friends?"

"No," Henry replied. "Being a dad?"

Bay looked down at the boy, unable to stop himself from a small smile. "I'll let you know," he said.

Henry's grin was so warm and happy that for a moment, Bay forgot what he was there to do, and who he would be facing. 

They finished up the dishes, clearing up the kitchen, and putting everything away. Henry reluctantly looked at the door, then back at Bay. “You’re going to go and talk to her?”

“If it stops her going after Emma, I will,” Bay said, laying his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I think she’d like it if you went up and had your bath and went to bed.” He squeezed Henry’s shoulder briefly. “At least look like you’re doing what you’re told.”

Regina was waiting as expected in the parlour. Henry saw Bay as far as the door, and hugged him once more around the middle, before dashing for the stairs. Regina watched him go, then turned that too-bright smile on Bay again, motioning for him to join her on the couch.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble," she said, as Bay sat gingerly on the far end of the couch.

"None at all," Bay replied with a careful smile. He folded his hands together in his lap, pressing the balls of his thumbs against one another. "He's a good boy."

Regina nodded. "He has been, until recently," she said. "He's been so... restless lately." She leaned forward to the polished table that stood in front of the couch and poured two measures of a gleaming golden liquid into tumblers. She picked the glasses up and offered him one.

Bay shook his head, staring at the glass for a moment too long. With Emma's help, he had put the need for it behind him, but now, with the Mayor - the Queen - smiling like a knife, it was tempting to snatch the glass and drain every drop. "I-I don't drink," he said.

Her smile remained, but she didn't withdraw her hand. "It's only one," she said. "Made from my own apples." She gave the glass a gentle swirl. "It's not even that strong."

Bay hated her.

If he hadn't before, he did now.

She was trying to force his hand and manipulate him. She had tried to drive Emma away. She was cruel and a bully and ruthless and wouldn't take no for an answer. 

He took the glass from her, and saw the approval in her eyes, but he didn't drink. Instead, he wrapped both hands around the glass, looking down at the liquid. "You said Henry was restless?" he said.

"Mm." Regina crossed one sleek leg over the other. She'd removed her shoes and one of her stockinged feet brushed his knee. "Running off, being disobedient, stealing credit cards." She sighed. "I try to do my best with him, but it's not easy being a single mother and running the town too."

Bay fought the impulse to move his leg away from her foot. He didn't want to be the focus of another person with power and cruelty, but Henry needed him to be brave, and so, he would be brave, and let her think she had a new plaything. "You've done a fine job so far," he said. "But no time for you to see anyone, I guess?"

It was a dance that she thought she was leading, and she smiled, lowering her head, and looking up at him through her lashes. "I wasn't really looking," she said.

"That sounds lonely," he said, turning the glass between his hands to keep them from shaking.

“It was,” she agreed, sliding a little closer. 

It took all Bay’s courage not to recoil or leap from the couch. “Your life sounds like it was lonely too,” she said. “Closed up in hospitals. Facilities. Away from your family. People who loved you.”

The glass was still in his hands and the more she spoke, the more tempting it was to drain the whole thing and settle into the hazy oblivion alcohol brought. “I left my family behind a long time ago,” he said abruptly.

Her hand touched his knee lightly. It might have been comforting if it was anyone else, but it wasn’t, and he didn’t dare to look her in the eye to see what emotions might be reflected there. “We’re the same that way,” she said, her fingers squeezing his knee almost kindly. “My parents… died long ago.”

“I guess we are,” he said, staring down into his glass.

She set aside her glass on the table and her other hand touched his cheek, her fingertips cool. He shuddered, closing his eyes. 

“You don’t have to be alone now, Bailey,” she murmured, so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. Her hand on his knee slid up, and his own hands were shaking so much around the glass that he was amazed it didn’t rattle to pieces.

“Don’t I?” he whispered. He dared a glance at her, her face so close to his. “I’ve done bad things.”

Her red lips curved. “Haven’t we all?” she murmured, then kissed him.

The glass skittered from his hands, spilling cider on his pants as it fell, and it hit the floor, shattering into a thousand crystal shards.

Bay leapt up as if burned. “Shit!” He grabbed at a box of Kleenex and dabbed at his pants, then looked at the floor. “God, I’m so sorry. I-I’ll get a broom!” He motioned at her urgently. “Stay there. I don’t want you to cut your feet.”

She didn’t have time to protest as he raced to the kitchen, pausing there to lean against the door. He felt sick to his stomach. He forced himself to the sink, scooping some water into his mouth, then fetched the dustpan and brush to clear up the shattered glass. 

Regina had drawn her feet up onto the couch, and watched him curiously as he cleared up the worst of the mess.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, as he swept up all the shard.

“I surprised you,” she said with a negligent wave of one hand. “It’s just a glass.”

He tried to smile. “It was just… a little fast,” he said. “We hardly know each other.”

She was watching him, her expression unreadable and dark. “Would you want to?”

The truth was heavy on his tongue, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Would you?”

Her smile was bright and she leaned out over the broken glass to touch his cheek. “I would,” she said. He ducked his head. Maybe she took it for shyness, because she laughed quietly. “But maybe not today. I like my men a little less skittish.”

“It’s been a long day,” he said, sweeping up the last of the glass. “I should get back.”

She peered down at the floor for any lingering shards, then delicately set her feet down, avoiding the puddle of cider. “We should do this again,” she suggested, touching his arm lightly.

“It was a nice meal,” he said with all honesty.

Her smile brightened. “Next week?”

He realised he was holding the brush and shovel like a sword and shield. “Sure. After your council meeting.”

“Of course,” she said. “I can’t cancel that.” Her hand curled around his, taking the shovel from him. “I’ll clear the rest of this up. You get home. Get some rest.”

He managed an almost convincing smile. When she saw him to the door, he walked steadily down the path until he was out of her line of sight. Only when he turned onto the sidewalk did he lean heavily against the hedge, drawing in gulping breaths of the cool night air.

The streets were quiet, and that was why he noticed the sound of an engine starting. A black car drew away a little further down the block, and he watched it go. He didn’t know who it was, but he could take a wild guess, and Gods, that didn’t help at all. 

Bay made his way back to Graham’s apartment. He could call Emma, let her know he needed her support, but after the day they’d had, she deserved a break, and if she knew what Regina had in mind now, she would stop him going back. And he had to. For Henry’s sake, and for Emma’s. He had to do whatever was necessary to keep the Queen distracted.

He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, and closed it just as quietly behind him. Only once the deadbolt was in place did he feel he could breathe again. He rested his forehead against the door, pressing his palms against the wood.

“Bay?”

Bay froze where he was. He’d hoped Graham was asleep, but apparently not.

“Are you okay?”

Seemed that it was a night without lies.

Bay shook his head.

Graham approached, his bare feet barely making a sound on the floor, and his broad hands came to rest on Bay’s shoulders. “You want me to call Emma?”

“No,” Bay whispered. “Please.”

Graham’s fingers kneaded at his shoulders. “What do you need?” he asked, his voice quiet in the darkness. An echo of a time long ago, when a wolf boy learned to use words, when a wolf boy considered a frightened orphan his pack.

Mutely, Bay reached up and drew Graham’s hands forwards, wrapping the other man’s arms around his shoulders. Graham didn’t flinch or shy back or move away. No. He held him, and held him fast, and just for a moment, Bay could close his eyes and feel like he was safe.


	8. Chapter 8

Emma didn’t really like Storybrooke.

It was as simple as that.

There was something about the place that got under her skin, but she’d never been someone to back away when something made her uncomfortable. She had a good reason to stay as well: Henry. If it had come down to choosing between Bay and Henry, it would have been a tough call, but Bay wouldn’t leave, and so she didn’t need to choose.

So they stayed. 

Bay kept himself busy, but she knew better than to ask how. Instead, she looked for part-time work, searching the advertisements in the paper, but it seemed that Storybrooke had as few job openings as it had apartments to rent.

It came as a surprise, then, when the Sheriff called her down to the station on evening, while Bay was out for another dinner with Regina.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, as she let the door swing shut behind her, “you need to arrest me again, because we’ve gone a week without handcuffs.”

Graham was sitting at one of the desks, but turned to look up at her. “Actually, no,” he said, pushing the seat back and getting up. “I wanted to offer you a job.”

Emma stared at him. “Wait, what?”

“Well, you haven’t left town,” he said with a crooked smile. “And you seem like the kind of person who likes to be fiscally responsible.”

Emma folded her arms. “Bay told you.”

He shrugged, getting up from his seat. “He mentioned you’d been looking.”

“I don’t want a sympathy job,” she said, watching him guardedly. 

“And I’m not about to give you one,” he replied. “I need a Deputy.”

Emma couldn’t help it: she snorted aloud. “Seriously?”

Graham sat back against the desk behind him, bracing his hands on the edge. “You help people,” he said. “I’ve seen you with Bay. I heard how you helped Ashley. We need people like that, and I have enough money in the budget for another post.”

Emma looked down, then back up at him. “Can you tell me this isn’t just about Bay asking for a favour?” she said.

He pressed one hand to his chest. “I promise,” he said. “This place has gotten smothered in bureaucracy. We need a breath of fresh air to clear out the cobwebs.”

Bureaucracy.

There was one person in town who had made the Sheriff dance to her tune, and if she had charge of the Sheriff, if he wanted to bring someone else in to try and keep her hands off the law, if he wanted Emma to be that person…

“Am I qualified?”

He flashed his half-smile at her. “This isn’t exactly a hive of criminal activity,” he said. “I can train you up as we go.” He tilted his head, looking up at her from beneath the mop of his curly hair. “How about it?”

Emma studied him. It was a job. It was better than nothing. And it didn’t hurt that Graham was a good guy who was looking out for her friend. She held out a hand to him. “You got yourself a Deputy, Sheriff,” she said.

Graham slipped his hand into his pocket, and a moment later when he clasped her hand, she felt the cold metal of a badge pressing against her palm. “Welcome to your new job, Sheriff Swan,” he said.

Emma closed her fingers around his and the badge, and he smiled. His hand was warm and broad, and she barely had a heartbeat to notice it before the world seemed to shudder around them. The shelves rattled and Graham caught her by the arm. 

“The doorway!” he said.

They staggered there, as the floor felt like it was bucking and rolling beneath their feet. A moment later, it was still, but outside, car alarms were wailing.

“An earthquake?” Emma said in disbelief. “In Maine?”

Graham opened his mouth to reply, but the telephone started shrilling, and he rushed over to pick it up. The second started ringing too, then the third, and Emma looked down at the badge that was cutting into her hands.

“Some first day on the job,” she said, half to herself.

It turned out it wasn’t really an earthquake. A mine on the outside of town had collapsed, and as they drove over to the cave-in, Graham told her the area had been abandoned for years. The old mines, he said, were considered dangerous. It wasn’t a big surprise that one of them had finally caved in.

“So this doesn’t happen often?” Emma said.

“Never, as far as I can remember,” he replied, drawing the car into the side of the road. There was already a gathering crowd of rubberneckers and he sighed. “We need to set up a cordon to keep people at a safe distance. Can you start moving people back?”

“Sure.”

When there was something dangerous happening, people liked to look, but they also liked to have someone who seemed to know what they were doing to tell them what to do. No one argued as she sent them back up the slope and away from the collapsed mine.

“What the hell is she doing?”

Emma glanced over.

Regina was stalking down the slope towards Graham, who was talking to the officers from the fire department. “Sheriff,” she said. “This is a dangerous area. You can’t just let anyone go wandering around down there.”

“Actually, it’s my job,” Emma said, pushing her coat back from her hip to show the badge on her belt.

The look on the Mayor’s face was worth sticking around for.

“Always the last to know,” she said, turning a dark look on Graham.

He pushed his hand through his hair. “It’s in my budget,” he said, though Emma noticed he didn’t meet the Mayor’s eyes.

“Fine,” Regina snapped. “Do we know what happened yet?”

Emma left them discussing the collapse, picking her way across the ground. She could see Bay mixed in with the crowd. At first she thought he must have been dragged along by Regina, but then she spotted Henry with him, hiding behind him.

She was halfway up when Regina called out. “People of Storybrooke, don’t be alarmed.” Emma rolled her eyes and kept going as the Mayor BS’d her way through a landslide. “We’ve always known this area was honeycombed with old mining tunnels. But fear not. I’m going to undertake a project to make this area safe – to rehabilitate it into city use. We will bulldoze it, collapse it, pave it.”

Henry’s plan for hiding was forgotten, and he darted out from behind Bay.

“Pave it?” he said,, rushing to the line. “What if there’s something down there?”

Emma glanced back at the Mayor, and saw the way she looked at her son, then searched the crowd.

“Henry,” Regina said, “this isn’t the time.” She approached the line, making a dismissive gesture with her hands. “There’s nothing to see here, so if everyone would let our safety Marshalls takes care of matters.”

The crowd grudgingly started to disperse, disappointed by the lack of excitement.

Henry looked up at Emma. “Did you see something…”

“Henry,” Regina said sharply. She looked at Bay, who had remained, several paces away. “I asked you to keep him at the house, Bailey.”

Bailey?

“I asked him to bring me,” Henry said. “What’s down there? What are you hiding?”

Regina pinched the bridge of her nose. “Henry, I don’t have time to argue about this with you,” she said. “This is a safety issue, and you were meant to stay at home. Now, go and wait in the car.”

Henry kicked a rock, but stomped away in the direction of the car.

“Sorry,” Bay said. He had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket, and that wasn’t a good thing. He was probably squeezing his keys already. He tended to do that when he was nervous. “He would have run out on his own. I thought it was safer if I brought him.”

“And at least he’s back in the car now,” Emma said, stepping closer to the line and to Bay, who was looking pale by the floodlights. “No harm, no foul, right?”

Regina looked at her coldly. “What wonderful parenting advice,” she said tartly. “Don’t you have a job to do, Miss Swan?”

Emma ground her teeth, but nodded. She headed back towards Graham, who was coordinating the engineering parties.

“Anything I can do?” she asked.

Graham shook his head. “I think we’re almost done here,” he said. “If you want to wait, I can give you a ride home.”

Emma nodded, slipping her hands in her pockets. She glanced over her shoulder. Regina was still talking to Bay, but she didn’t seem to notice that he was stiff and formal, and his smile wasn’t reaching his eyes. 

The Mayor rose on her toes and kissed Bay’s cheek, and he nodded at something she said, then said something. Whatever it was, it was enough to make Regina smile and saunter away.

Bay remained where he was, watching her go.

Emma made her way back across the open ground. “What’s going on?” she asked quietly.

Bay didn’t look at her. “She’s not bothering you,” he said.

“But she’s bothering you now?” Emma said, approaching him. “Your hands, Bay.”

He shook his head tightly. “Not here,” he said.

Emma touched his arm. “You can’t do this, Bay.”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Just distracting her. She’s not doing anything to me.”

Emma rubbed his arm. The only time he never listened to her advice was when he was trying to look after her, and it sounded like this was one of those occasions. “You need a ride home?”

Bay nodded. “I was going to wait for Graham.”

“Same,” Emma said. She nodded up the hill to a moss-covered boulder. “Want to sit?”

They were still sitting there, side-by-side, in silence when Graham came up from the engineers. His hands and clothes were stained with dirt, but he smiled crookedly. “Looks like we’re done for the night, Deputy.”

“Deputy?” Bay lifted his head, his eyes brightening.

Emma nodded, getting up. “It’s a job,” she said, slipping a hand through his arm as he rose. She leaned closer as they followed Graham back towards the car. “A little bird told me that someone said I’d been looking for work.”

Bay’s lips trembled. “It’s a good job for you,” he said. “You look out for people. You don’t let them get stepped on.”

“I try to,” Emma agreed. She squeezed his arm with hers. “C’mon.”

On the drive back to town, Graham speculated about the cause of the landslide with Emma, but Bay was silent in the back seat of the car. She glanced back at him from time to time, but he was staring out of the window, a distant expression on his face.

“You mind if I come in with you?” she asked Graham.

Graham glanced up at the rearview mirror. “Bay?”

Bay turned, startled. “What?”

“Emma wants to come in for a while,” he said. He grinned. “Maybe we can toast my new deputy?”

Bay’s smile was fragile but genuine. “Yeah,” he said. “A toast.”

Emma had never seen the Sheriff’s apartment before, and she was surprised by how small it was. Graham headed straight to the sink to wash up some of the dishes so they could have a drink, and Bay hastily folded up the sofa bed.

“Not much room,” Emma observed, as she folded up the blankets that Bay had shoved to one side.

“More than a bug,” he reminded her.

She nodded, putting the blankets down and touched his wrist. “Bay.”

He stiffened for a moment, then nodded, turning over his hands. She could see the half-moons and bloody smears where his nails of had bit into his palm, and on the other palm, the irregular pattern of the edge of a key was cut into the flesh.

She covered his palms lightly with her own. “We’ll clean these up, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice.

She shook her head. “It’s all right,” she said. “I could see you were uncomfortable.” What went unsaid was that Regina clearly didn’t. She fetched a washcloth from the bathroom and sat on the couch beside him, washing the blood from his hands.

“Accident?” Graham asked, as he brought over glasses. Emma almost opened her mouth to warn him not to offer Bay alcohol, but stopped short. One of the glasses was filled with soda instead of amber liquid. A smile flicked across her lips. At least someone else was watching out for her friend, she thought as she took one of the other glasses.

“Sort of,” Bay said, curling his fingers over his palms. He took the soda with a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

Graham sat down on the floor at their feet, his own glass between his palms. “To the new Deputy,” he said, tilting the glass at Emma. “Here’s to making my job a lot easier.”

“And bring in the donuts?” Bay suggested with a touch of mischief that Emma hadn’t seen in him for a long time.

Graham laughed, his teeth white in his smile. He didn’t smile like that anywhere else, Emma realised. This place, his home, was where he was safe and comfortable. Outside, he walked like a Sheriff, but he was always on duty, watchful, cautious. 

Now, he smiled, and Emma found herself smiling back.

“Maybe we should just toast donuts,” she challenged, “if that’s all you brought me in for.”

His brown eyes met hers and he raised his glass. “To donuts! Long may they expand my waistband.”

She snorted a kicked him lightly on the knee.

To her surprise, Bay laughed. It was such a rare sound that she looked at him, and for a moment, he looked unguarded and happy. She leaned against him, her shoulder against his, and clinked her glass to his. Graham added his glass.

Just for once, things felt right.

It couldn’t last of course. 

It didn’t even last twenty-four hours.

She and Bay were having lunch together at the station the next day, when Henry rushed in. They both rose, at the distraught look on Henry’s face, but Emma was closest and he crashed into her arms, holding onto her tightly. 

“Whoa, kid,” she said, looking at Bay in concern, then back at Henry. “What’s going on?”

Henry looked up at her, tears streaking his face. “Archie,” he said, his voice breaking. “He said it’s not real! He said I had a psychosis! He said he was going to lock me away if I didn’t stop believing in the fairytales!”

Emma felt sick to the stomach. “Oh, kid,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him, one hand stroking through his hair. Archie was a good guy, but he’d been pressed into making bad decisions before, and this sounded like someone else was pulling the strings. “Was he at his office?”

Henry nodded, shivering in her arms. 

Bay circled the desk and touched Henry’s shoulder. “You want to go talk to him?” he said quietly to Emma. “I think someone needs to.”

Talking was the last thing on Emma’s mind, but she nodded. She gently untangled Henry’s arms from her waist and crouched down in front of him. “I need you to stay with Bay, okay, Henry? I’m going to go and see what’s wrong with Archie.”

“He thinks I’m crazy,” Henry’s voice broke. “I thought he was my friend.”

Bay squeezed Henry’s shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “It’s probably the Queen that did it.”

As much as she hated to blame the curse, if it made him feel better, right now, she was willing to accept it. “I’ll go and find out,” she said, brushing the tears from Henry’s cheeks with her thumbs. “You stay here and have something to eat with Bay. I’ll be back soon.”

Graham was out on patrol with the car, which meant she had to walk, and it was far enough that her temper had cooled a little by the time she ran up the steps.

It would have been so easy to strike out, hit a grown man for making her son cry, but the moment she walked into Archie’s office, she could see that he was already doing a stellar job of beating himself up. A half-drunk glass of scotch was cradled in his shaking hand. 

“What did you do?” she demanded. “You told me not to take the fantasy away! You told me it would devastate him!”

He didn’t meet her eyes, the shame was written all over his face. “Of course,” he muttered, cowed and obedient, “if the therapy stops working, you adjust it?”

Emma stared at him in disbelief. “Is it her?” she said angrily. “Did she threaten you?” She stalked across the room towards him. “What could be strong enough to drown out your own conscience?”

He staggered to his feet, swaying. It looked like he’d been drinking from the moment Henry left his office. “I do not need to defend my professional decisions to you, okay?”

Emma opened her mouth to argue, but her cell shrilled. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen, and blew out a shaking breath. “Hello, Madam Mayor,” she said tartly. “Nice work.”

Regina didn’t sound smug or arrogant for once. “Are you with him?”

Emma looked across at Archie. “Yes,” she said. “I’m with Doctor Hopper, and guess what? You left your fingerprints all over him when you tried…”

“Not him,” Regina interrupted impatiently. “Henry. Is he with you?”

“I left him with Bay,” Emma said. “They were having something to eat together at the Sheriff’s station.”

“He’s not answering his cell,” Regina said. “And the phone at the station is ringing out.”

Emma felt a knot settle in her belly. “I’ll call you back,” she said. She disconnected, and dialled Bay’s number. He might avoid calls from Regina, but he knew better than to ignore any calls from her. They had a deal, after all, that he wouldn’t just vanish again. He picked up on the fourth ring, and he sounded like he was walking. “Bay?”

“Hey.”

“Where are you?”

“Henry and I are just going for a walk,” he said. There was something evasive about his tone, and she wrapped her arm across her middle uneasily.

“Where?” she asked.

Bay was silent for a moment. “It’s to make Henry feel better,” he said. “We’ll be back later.”

He disconnected the call and Emma stared at the cell. “Where can you go to make Henry feel better?” she echoed to herself. 

“Oh god…” Archie said faintly. “I think I know.”

She should have guessed. Bay was a stupid, self-sacrificing asshole who wouldn’t think twice about putting himself in danger if it meant keeping someone he cared about happy. Of course he would do something stupid.

It was raining by the time they reached the mines, and Henry was sitting on a boulder near the entrance, wrapped in Bay’s coat.

“Where’s Bay?” Emma asked, rushing to Henry’s side. “Did he go in?”

Henry looked balefully at Archie. “He believed me, so he went to find the proof,” he said.

Emma pushed a hand through her hair. “God,” she groaned. She leaned into the entrance. “Bay?” Her voice echoed back a thousand times and she heard loose stones and shale rattling free and beams creaking. “Bay, get the hell out of there! It’ll come down on you!”

“Henry, you shouldn’t have asked him to do that!” Archie said.

“I didn’t ask him,” Henry said. “He went in himself. He told me he would get me the proof I was looking for.”

Emma met Archie’s eyes. It didn’t matter if they both thought the kid was living in a world of imagination. What mattered was that Bay, who was far from stable himself, was wandering around in mines that were on the verge of collapsing around him.

“I’ll go in and get him out,” Emma said. “You stay with Henry.”

She started into the mine, but Archie called after her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Emma turned to look back. “No,” she shouted. “But I’m not leaving him down here alone.”

She stepped on a beam lying across the floor and something creaked. Flakes of dust settled in her hair and she looked up. A crack was opening in the ceiling and she stumbled back a step, then another, as the ground started shaking under her feet.

The last thing she heard before it went dark was Henry screaming her name.


End file.
